


Long Range Projections

by Therrae (Dasha_mte)



Series: Xenoethnography [6]
Category: The Transformers (Cartoon Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Canon Disabled Character, Ethnography, Other, Transformer Sparklings, multi-cannon mash-up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2019-11-15
Packaged: 2020-12-16 02:40:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 35,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21028895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dasha_mte/pseuds/Therrae
Summary: “Ew. So, what’s the issue? I mean, what specifically is scary about Earth? The general creepiness or—oh. The prophesy.  There’s a big evil coming from here in a few hundred years. Right?” Again, silence. Kim could feel the slight vibration of his torque engine idling through her feet. She wondered if she should let the topic drop.  She decided not to: “Optimus, are you stressing so much about this you’re running combat protocols?”“In fact, yes.”





	1. Cold equations

She’d had the nightmare, but it wasn’t what had woken her up this time. That was a relief, for a moment. Then she realized what _had_ woken her up. Her room was too light.

Deep in the mesa, there were no windows. If Kim went to bed with a thin crack of light coming from under the door and a tiny, red, nightlight under the desk, it should stay that dark until she woke up and turned on the light.

Carefully, Kim peeked over the pillow. The line of light under the door was right. Slowly, she turned over.

She was still shouting and sliding backwards when she identified the two disks of light hovering over the foot of her bed. “Fixit! Jesus! What the hell, Dude?”

“Kim! Are you _frightened_ of me?”

She was gasping. Her hair was in her face. She was nearly falling out of bed. “Shit!”

The bright disks of his eyes blinked and reset. He rolled slightly back. “I have angered you.” He had just the right amount of surprise and sadness in his voice. He was kicking ass with the English nonverbals app.

“Don’t _do_ that!”

“I did not wish to anger you. How shall I avoid it?” he asked plaintively.

“Knock! I know you know you’re supposed to knock.”

“Normally yes. But I did not want to wake you. That is also incorrect.”

Kim sagged. She buried her face in her hands. “Fixit. Dude. Don’t creep in and stare at me while I’m sleeping!”

A pause. “Noted. I apologize.” Another pause. “Is this preference idiosyncratic?”

“No. Hell, no. Don’t creep in and stare at anybody while they are sleeping!”

The glowing eyes bobbed up and down as he nodded.

Kim sighed. “So, what’s wrong?”

“Why do you think something is wrong?”

Kim sighed. Sat up. Turned on the light. “Fixit, why are you here?”

“I need your advice.”

“So. What’s wrong?”

He leaned forward, head and neck stretched as far up the bed as he could manage. “Maggie is not going to have a happy and fulfilled life!” he wailed.

Kim’s alarm clock began to squawk. Flinching, she snapped it off, took a deep breath, and tried again. “Okay. Okay. Start at the beginning.”

Fixit’s optics reset. “Where is the beginning?”

“Is Maggie okay right now?”

Wrong question. Fixit regarded Kim in hopeless puzzlement.

“Why do you think Maggie is going to have an unhappy and unfulfilled life?” 

“Because the research I have conducted indicates that outcome is inevitable.”

Kim’s eyebrows were half-way up her forehead before she remembered to try to keep her calm face on. “What research? What were you researching?”

“Did you know that human categories are not only a matter of caste but also indicate reproductive potential?”

What? No. “Oh. Jesus. Fixit. You didn’t know before….?”

“It was complicated. And confusing. And it didn’t seem to matter. And I…I’m sorry. I had very little bandwidth.”

“Okay. Yeah. And now you have plenty of bandwidth.” Plenty of bandwidth. And while a problem at the Bridge might use up most of it, on most days he had processing power to spare.

“I was researching human needs for the facilities upgrade. Perhaps you are aware that ‘men’ and ‘women’ had different preferences in kitchen and bathroom features?” He didn’t sound particularly hopeful that she had.

“I knew, yeah.” Fixit had undertaken to renovate the ancient Cold War bathroom and the office next to it into a small kitchen, modern bathroom, and laundry area. It was still in the planning stages, with materials already arriving and being stored in the conference room.

“The material I found was conflicting and illogical. I expanded my research,” he confessed miserably.

“Oh, Fixit,” Kim groaned, sudden visions of what he might be reading crowding her mind.

“I did not know what kind of being Maggie was! I did not know how terribly she will suffer!”

This was going to take a while. “Okay, back up and turn around so I can get dressed.”

“Why?”

“We’ve had this discussion before. I know your memory for events is fine. Turn. Around.”

He complied but did not let the subject go. “Why? I do not understand. I did not understand before.”

“Because I’m not awake enough to sort through the implications of being seen naked by you, so we just aren’t going there.” She found shorts and a tee shirt. Socks. Earrings. Her sneakers were under the bed. “Now tell me what you’ve been reading. Exactly.” She had a sudden sympathy for Optimus’ complaints that her queries about problems weren’t specific enough.

“Maggie has been promoted. Men tend to avoid marrying women who have both a higher salary and more education than themselves. Her field of potential partners is narrowing sharply. She is already in the eighty-fifth percentile.”

“I’m sure if Maggie wants to get married, she’ll have no problem finding someone—"

“Male partners are usually five years older than female partners. Within fifty miles of Jasper there are exactly zero unmarried men who meet those criteria.”

“Oh. Well. I can see why you’re worried. But you know it is not that simple.”

“And Maggie has already dated seven candidates!”

“She…what?” Kim really wished she could give up on this conversation. “Let me get some tea.”

“She has informed me she only intends to date a maximum of two more candidates. Since she has already dated seven, she has already rejected seventy-seven percent of the total. Optimal Stopping Theory applied requires an initial sample of thirty-seven percent of the total—”

Kim waved her arms desperately. “Okay. But it isn’t about math!”

“No. It is about romance. The data on that is incoherent. Although neurobiology—“

“Fixit! Please stop. It’s six-oh-six in the morning and I haven’t had tea and I need to think.” She poured the dregs from the filter pitcher into the electric kettle and plugged it in. She found a tea bag. She found a mostly-clean mug. “Maybe…Maggie doesn’t even want to get married.”

“But intact two-parent families provide the best environment for children!”

“Well, no,” Kim sighed. “Stable is key. The number of parents isn’t important. Does Maggie even want children?”

“But how will she have a fulfilling, meaningful life if she does not have children?” Fixit asked in a small, flat voice.

“Uh, any way she wants?” Kim shot back.

Then she blinked.

Took a deep breath.

Looked the minicon up and down twice.

“Fixit. This is all up to Maggie. You can’t fix it for her. Even if she wants to get married and make rug rats, that has to be up to her. You can’t—oh, honey, you really can’t be an alien yenta. Or whatever.”

“But she is female. She is not maximizing the capacity of her design. She cannot be fulfilled.”

Kim sat down on the edge of the bed, wishing the tea was ready. “How can I explain this to you? We aren’t like mecha. Humans are almost all fertile, so it’s not a big deal if some of us decide not to use that part of our hardware. We’ve got lots of capacities. Some of us more than we can use in our whole lives. Maggie is extraordinary. She can do things—maybe things no other human can do at all. And if she doesn’t want to settle down and be domestic right now—or ever—that’s fine.”

Fixit looked at her. “Have you discussed this with her?” he asked suspiciously.

“Um…no.”

He sagged. “I thought perhaps you had colluded.”

“Maggie tell you the same thing?”

“And she has forbidden me to discuss it with her further.”

“Well yeah. I bet she has elderly relatives nagging her. Or whatever. She doesn’t need you on her too.”

“But it is my fault! I taught Maggie Bridge equations. It is only because of the Autobots she is here instead of Washington DC, where there are approximately ten thousand men who meet acceptable criteria. And Maggie thinks she is happy as a spinster—what will I do when she realizes—”

“Geez, no. You didn’t call her a spinster did you?”

“That was when she forbad me to discuss the subject,” he confessed.

“Well, yeah. That’s not even—women are not only valuable when they are married and gestating!”

Fixit’s optics reset twice. “What do you mean?”

The water began to boil. Kim snatched the pot up and poured. “I mean, you have to stay off the internet. It’s corrupting you with crap—no. Wait. New research project. Keyword: feminism. Get going.”

“Oh.” He said. “Oh, my.”

“Great,” Kim said. She lifted the mug in one hand and jogged the teabag up and down with the other. “Wonderful. You go research that. Let me know how it goes.”

“But—”

“Fixit. I really think you should study up on the subject before talking anymore. I am also female.”

Fixit left meekly. Kim followed just after; a quick trip to the bathroom, because she was up now, and today was going to be busy, and she really had to pee—

She picked the conversation over in her mind. She’d handled that right. Probably.

Anyway. Fixit would be fine. Thank god for the internet. The information was out there. He could assimilate input from multiple sources at once—and mecha read English at rate (roughly speaking) of forty pages a minute on each parallel track. Fixit would be completely up to speed on gender issues by tomorrow. He’d be fine.

As long as he didn’t find the ‘red pill’ garbage. Or wind up a terf. Or start down a rabbit hole with Dice Clay or some other sketchy comedian. Or actually read the _Handmaid’s Tale_.

Aw, fuck.

Kim returned to her room and checked the pitcher. Was there enough water for oatmeal? There wasn’t. Okay. Cereal and milk. 

Kim tapped through the contacts on her phone as she swallowed the first bite. “Good morning, Boss.”

“_You only address me as ‘boss’ when you have bad news_,” he answered at once.

“It’s a verbal cue that I’m working,” she said.

“_It seems you have gotten an early start_.”

Not voluntarily. Kim poked at the cereal with her spoon. “So Fixit has discovered gender. And reproduction. Turns out Maggie is a woman and it’s freaking him out.”

“_Ah_.”

“Do you have any further comment?” She took another gulp of cereal.

“_Kim. Until recently his processor was badly overtaxed. Until he attempted to integrate the European communication packet last week, he believed gender was a…”_ the pause was tellingly long “_optional_ _lifestyle. Or subculture. Like belonging to a motorcycle club. Or being a surfer. Or an American Marine.” _

“Right,” Kim said numbly. Marines were slightly rarer in the very army NEST base than women. Why would any of those categories be relevant for Fixit? “Yeah. I can totally see how an inorganic alien wouldn’t notice….” Springer had confessed that for the first month he had differentiated humans primarily by height, which his sonar could measure very exactly. “But he’s making up for lost time. And how.”

“_You are concerned_.”

“A little knowledge is a dangerous thing….”

“_Hm. What do you suggest_?”

“I imagine you have very detailed files on human genders and reproduction.”

“_In fact, I do.”_

“You could share those. Ideally before Fixit tries to get someone else to help him fix Maggie up.”

“_He didn’t_.”

“He thinks her life is being ruined by not….that part wasn’t clear. Being married? Having kids? Depending on what he’s read, he may be thinking ‘housewife’ is a more fulfilling destiny than gate technician.”

“_Oh, dear_.”

“I think you should front load the packed with not everybody wants to have kids and not everybody is good at it. Biology has to be the most mystifying thing.”

This was met with a heavy silence.

“I’m...I’m not mad at him,” she said quickly. “He’s trying to understand an alien species from the internet. And I know he loves Maggie. She has to be the best friend he has on the planet. It’s just….”

“_He does not realize that this is no better than functionalism, and that hearing this limiting of destiny from him is as hurtful as would be hearing your enumerating minicon restrictions—ah. We have not actually discussed this in enough detail for the analogy to be clear_.”

Shit. “Maybe…angry, rather than hurtful.”

“_You have said you are_ not _angry_,” he said gently.

“Well. Yeah. But it’s my job not to be offended. That isn’t Maggie’s job.”

“_I appreciate that.”_

“Thanks.”

“_I will make sure Fixit has the appropriate information_. _A change of topic_?”

“Sure.”

“_I will be approximately six minutes late for our rendezvous. Ratchet wanted to go over the consumption numbers for the gestation pods this morning, and I have not been able to make up lost time_.” 

“Sparklings okay?”

“_One-B has consumed the aluminum and silica, and there are more than six orns left in the expected developmental phase. This is unusual, but probably not ‘bad.’ Ratchet is supplementing the depleted resources.”_

“Oh. Good. Okay. Six minutes, huh? I dunno. That’ll put us behind. I may have to leave without you.”

A chuckle. “_You will not make much progress hiking to Nellis in six minutes_.”

“I still own a car, Dude.”

A pause. “_You are teasing me_.”

Kim spooned up soggy cereal. “Well, yeah! I’m pretty sure the battery’s dead by now. Actually, I was going to Uber. Have to meet them at the front gate though. Security’s pretty tight….”

No answer.

“Too much?”

“_Freedom of movement is as precious to humans as to mecha_,” his answer was inflectionless.

Kim gave a dark look to her phone. “I am still kidding. How much, exactly, does human driving freak you out?”

“_It doesn’t freak me out_,” still flat: a mental state he didn’t want to share. “_I have written a subroutine to suppress my emotional response when driving in proximity to humans.”_

Woah. “I apologize. I shouldn’t have teased you.”

“_Human transport vehicles are so badly made_,” he said apologetically.

“Compared to the glory and perfection that is you. Yes. And I mean that sincerely. I’m sorry. No more teasing. I’ll meet you in the assembly area at seven thirty-six.”

***

Bill Fowler was already there when Kim came down from the balcony. His brows rose in exaggerated surprise. “A skirt? And no big earrings? And _nothing_ with glitter on it?”

Kim rolled her eyes. “I don’t want to distract the human. And I’m still wearing comfortable shoes.”

“Oh. I see. Priorities.” He glanced at his watch. “He said he was running late.”

“Yeah.”

Fowler glanced around. There were no mecha in sight, although they could hear Ratchet banging on something in the infirmary. “There’s a meeting tomorrow. Keller and Mearing and that weasel Galloway are coming in for a meeting about the flipsides. I put your name on the list.”

“Okay. Why?”

“Because Mearing is going to demand Prime pull the Decepticon’s brain and do a forensic analysis on its data while the rest of the body is chopped up for spare parts.”

“And he won’t want to do that,” Kim whispered.

“Screw want. It won’t work. We have never gotten any useful information out of a dead mech’s memory bank. The bots don’t have the equipment, we sure as hell don’t have the equipment…. That’s a waste. The end.”

“Okay. So.” Kim’s own brain squirmed. How gruesome _was_ this conversation, exactly?

“Keller is going to want to wake her up and try to negotiate. Right now she doesn’t know she’s a spy. If the surface personality is well crafted, she’ll be horrified at the idea of losing her identity and turning on her friends. Keller thinks we can leverage that, get her to agree to have the Decepticon processor removed and then access the…the evil twin memories through a filter.”

“Is that a bad plan, too?”

“It’s a great plan, except Ratchet is convinced it won’t work. If we wake her up and confront her with the truth, the original personality will activate, and her surface personality will be wiped.”

“So, what’s the good plan?”

“I’m not done with the bad plans yet. Springer?”

“Yes?”

“He wants to implant her with a virus, trigger her original personality, and let her escape back to the Decepticons.”

“That’s…ruthless.”

“Ratchet says it might work. Jazz says escalating that way will just make the Decepticons desperate enough or angry enough to do something stupid.”

Kim tilted her head back and looked up into the dim heights of the old missile silo. About forty feet up she could see the outlines of the two gestation pods. “Is there any plan that works out?”

“As far as I’m concerned, it already has,” Fowler said. “We caught the spy _before_ she went all Total Recall on our ass. That’s a win. The POW thing is…complicated. But if we disassemble her, it’s safe to keep her in a drawer in stasis…until the end of the war. Whatever. No wasted effort. No wasted resources.”

“That sounds…a little bit like murder.”

“No, that sounds like more humane treatment then human prisoners get anywhere. I don’t have to tell you what prison does to people.” He glanced around. “Kim, we can’t have NEST thinking a living ‘Bot is captured equipment. Ever. Not even a Decepticon.”

“Ugh.”

“Look, I don’t know what kind of conversation you’re prepared to have about how enemy combatants are…contained. But I believe there are lines that are not only evil to cross, but counter-productive. Get it?”

“Yeah.”

There was a mech coming through the tunnel; large, quick. Kim looked in that direction. “I work for him,” she said.

Fowler shrugged. “Not as a yes man.”

Optimus came around the corner and dropped into alt between one step and the next.

***

At Autobot speeds, the trip to Nellis took a little over an hour and a half. Fowler discovered that the simulated big rig had a working horn—and actually used it twice before Optimus got irritated and turned it off.

Optimus then took revenge by asking Kim detailed and obscure questions about human religion. Kim was sure he already knew most of the answers, but he drew out the discussion in tedious detail that bored Fowler into sighing tragically and rolling his eyes.

After about half an hour, though, he had a stroke of genius and began asking Optimus questions about sparklings. Fowler had vague ideas that human infants needed feeding and burping and changing. And toys. And kiddie pools. What did newborn mecha need?

Little mecha needed toys, yes. And components they could experiment with integrating. A small race track would be nice, but Optimus wasn’t sure where to install one.

***

The interview with the first linguistic candidate had been the previous week. Optimus and Kim had Bridged to France (and yes, ‘first trip to France’ should be a big deal, but all Kim had seen was a French military base near Lanvéoc). The candidate had been the epitome of cool; early 60s, matronly, snow white hair, piercing brown eyes. She was utterly charming. She had brought fine yarn and some kind of hook with her and made lace (or something) while answering Optimus’ questions. She’d been cheerful, friendly, and so confident she didn’t even seem to be _trying_ to be confident. Kim had been thinking about which office to convert for her in the Human Dorm.

For linguists the interview process included by a hands-on sample. This second phase was some kind of semiotic puzzle: a tablet computer, a stack of papers, a blank notebook, a pamphlet. Kim had settled Madam Arnastau at a work table, laid out water and apple slices, and retreated to a corner of the room to read while she took the test. 

Kim had looked at the material. The symbols weren’t Cybertronix. The apps on the tablet seemed to be weird games. Well. Kim shouldn’t expect to understand it. If Kim were a linguist, they wouldn’t need to hire one.

Only one hour in, though, Madam Arnastau deleted her work, turned off the tablet, piled up the sheets of paper neatly, and retrieved her purse and craft bag. “Thank you. I am sorry to have wasted your time, but I am finished. Please direct me to the exit.” Her English had no accent, of course.

Kim goggled. “But—I mean, if the test was too difficult—I realize the format is weird—And your reputation—”

A small, patient smile. “I can safely say the sample was clear enough. This isn’t work I want any part of. I do apologize for the inconvenience, but it is best if I leave now.”

So that was that. 

The second interview was scheduled today at Nellis. Out of a list of thirty offered by Mearing, Optimus had only accepted two, and if Richard Chase didn’t work out, Kim wasn’t sure what the next step was. If there was one.

On paper, Chase looked spectacularly perfect; Masters’ in engineering from MIT, Ph.D. in computer programming from Stanford. A second Ph. D. in linguistics from McGill. He was in the second year of a post-doc at Princeton right now, unmarried and with no current career commitments. Of course, his credentials couldn’t convey what sort of _person_ he was. He might not be the unicorn he superficially appeared.

Optimus decreed Nellis too close to justify using the Ground Bridge, so he and Kim and Bill Fowler were taking a road trip. Fortunately, not a long road trip. They made good enough time to stop for a snack at a Starbucks (damn, but Jasper was short on pretentious chain fast food pastries) and sit munching it in a parking lot with the doors open. It was a beautiful day. The heat hadn’t set in yet and the pale blue sky was peppered in small clouds.

***

It was the same interview room they had used for Kim. For moment she was caught in the surreality of it, how much she had changed—how much the world had changed—since she first sat here. Agent Fowler left her there to test the technology while he went and fetched the linguist.

“Why do you like the wig and hat question so much?” Kim asked, turning on the webcam over the worktable in the corner.

“_Partly, if I had hair, I cannot imagine wanting to cover my head with either. But also, it gives the candidate a chance to demonstrate patience and care. You took a foolish and obvious question seriously. I was very encouraged_.”

“View okay?”

“_The positioning is fine. I won’t complain about the quality of the camera.”_

“Yeah….if you make the job offer, be sure to warn him about ‘Bot chauvinism.” 

Dr. Chase appeared to be in his early forties. He had glasses and longish, mousy hair. He used a wheelchair. When presented with interview-by-telecast, he made the _Charlie’s Angles_ joke. Kim glanced away at the _déjà vu_.

“And this is Dr. Montgomery, she’s the project principal investigator. She’ll be supervising the position.”

Kim made a face. “Supervising. If I was technically competent to supervise a linguist, we wouldn’t need one. And call me Kim.”

“Chip,” he said, holding out his hand. “Nice to meet you. Should I show off by saying that in multiple languages?”

Kim laughed. “It isn’t me you have to impress.”

She sat off to the side and observed while Optimus constructed a path of questions, leading Chip Chase one way and then another. How did his thesis research relate to cognitive theory? (Only tangentially) What was his opinion on the ethics of ‘moral baby’ research? (He was for it; varied experience was good for babies) What was his position on aliens from outer space? (Not mathematically impossible) What was his favorite tabletop game (Fluxx), and would he mind explaining the rules in Mandarin? (It took about six minutes) Could he do it in Cree? (He didn’t seem as confident there, but Optimus didn’t end the interview) What was the role of language in identity production? (It was performative and interactive)

Chip seemed more laid-back about the interview than Kim had been. But then, over a decade more experience and a second Ph.D. would do a lot to calm anyone down.

“Can you explain the difference between a wig and a hat?”

Kim remembered being thrown a bit by that. This guy just laughed and started talking about semiotics.

Kim watched Chase’s face and hands. Half the words she didn’t understand anyway. She had been puzzled, flustered, anxious—what? Not even six months ago? She had been looking for hints in the questions, clues about what this was all about. The linguist seemed to simply focus on each question in turn, sliding from one to another without pausing to search for a bigger picture.

She had heard that linguists could be a little…odd. Not bad. Precise and direct….

At forty-three minutes, Optimus ended phase one. “_I think we can proceed with the practical application phase of the interview. Agent Fowler, if you would?_”

Bill gave the interface a dubious look, then he turned to the candidate. “You can have a break first—snack? More coffee? Restroom? The practical’s timed. Two hours.”

Chip looked him up and down. “It sounds thrilling.”

Bill shrugged. “Last candidate threw in the towel half way through.”

“I’ll take the coffee. Thanks.”

“_Agent Fowler, you need to check your phone_,” Optimus said suddenly. “_There has been a traffic incident in Missouri.” _

Bill called up his messages, rolled his eyes, mouthed ‘Strongarm,’ and handed the briefcase to Kim.  
“You take it from here. Have fun.”

“Oh, yeah,” Chip said. “None of this is ominous at all.”

Kim looked at him. “It’s top secret government research. It’s gonna be weird.” She led him to the worktable and began laying out the parts: tablet, booklet, paper notebook, sheets.

“Am I allowed to ask about your…experience with the test?”

Kim glanced up. “Oh, I didn’t take the test. If I could, we wouldn’t need a linguist. “

“So…no hints, then?”

Kim smiled and shook her head.

She retreated to the couch and took up her laptop to work on fieldnotes. It was the one with the pulled wifi card, so there was no chance of digital surveillance. Kim ignored the linguist on the other side of the room. It wasn’t like she needed to watch. Optimus had a little camera in the ceiling.

***

“That’s time.” He closed the tablet and pushed it away. “How long will it take to analyze my results.”

Kim thought about Optimus watching the process in real time. “I’m not sure. Nobody ever made it this far.”

“It wasn’t that hard.” He glanced back at the stack of papers. “Maybe I did it wrong.”

Kim shook her head. She had no idea.

“If I pass… should I take the job? Do you like it?”

“Best job ever,” Kim said.

“The top secret military job,” he said doubtfully. “In Nevada.”

Kim shrugged innocently. “With immigrants. They’re nice people. No, seriously, though. You should take it. You’ll be famous, Dr. Chase. I don’t mean linguist famous. Regular people famous.”

He laughed. “Chip. Really. I won’t be able to publish. That is what Top Secret means.”

“Not now. Eventually though. If you can actually do it.”

“Do what? You can’t mean decipher a language. That isn’t—” He broke off, glanced sharply away. “Is it safe?” he asked after a moment.

“Oh, yes,” Kim said. “Well, as safe as where you are now.” And that was true. If Megatron started bombing cities from space, nowhere was safe.

“I have an Ivy League post doc now. In a city with a low crime rate. At Christmas time, you go into town and all the decorations match. They hire Victorian carolers to sing up and down the streets on the weekends. It’s basically a moving diorama. Nothing is that safe.”

“It’s a military base. Continental United States. Very safe.”

He gave her a hard look. “Oh? I’m gay and I use a wheelchair. I’ll ask again, is it safe?”

“Actually, yeah. Nobody would risk their assignment messing with a civilian contractor. Or risk pissing off—” It was Kim’s turn to glance away. “It’s safe.”

“Living conditions?”

“Well, there’s visiting officer quarters. We put—” _some of the humans there_. No, she couldn’t say that. _Carly and Dr. Nomura_\--probably should not mention specific names yet. “Well. Or there’s the dorm area I’m in. That’s getting upgrades. It should be really nice in a few weeks. Or you could get an apartment in town.” Kim winced inwardly. Jasper wasn’t Princeton. It wasn’t even Boise. Was she recommending someone move there? Seriously? She sagged. “A lot can be done telecommuting.”

“Telecommuting.” 

He was looking at her very closely. Kim wondered what was showing in her expression.

“So. How long have they been here?” he asked. “On Earth. The aliens.”

Kim felt the blood rush to her face. At this confirmation Dr. Chase’s eyes widened and he noticeably paled.

Fuck. Kim opened her mouth. Shut it. “Boss, help me out here. I can’t lie to him. Not if he’s going to work with me.”

Optimus’ voice came over the speaker at once. “_Private Headly is on the way with the paperwork. When it is complete, we can continue this discussion_.”

So they sat in awkward silence while he filled out paper forms. There were a lot of forms. When Kim couldn’t stand it anymore, she got out a book and pretended to read.

At last he handed the stack over. “So? Aliens.” He glanced at the door.

“We’ll go meet one now.”

“_Kim_,” Optimus said, “_left out the door, to the right past the restroom, down the grey hallway_.”

“Right. Thanks. I…wasn’t paying attention.”

“Special environment?” Chip asked.

“Don’t speculate. It really won’t help.” Kim took a deep breath. “You can talk about it here. They were based out of Nellis until… other transportation became available. But—actually talking about it won’t make this any less surprising.”

“You can’t speak their language,” he guessed.

“It’s giving me nightmares. I can understand short sentences sometimes if I know all the words in it. Once I generated a two-word sentence that made sense. It’s giving me nightmares. And I don’t have _time_.”

“How many others?”

“Other anthropologists? None. But some of the humans on the medical staff live…I don’t even know how to explain.”

They turned onto the grey corridor. There was a door on the left at the end. Kim turned the knob, stepped through, held it open. “Can you manage the height change?” She had forgotten the low step up.

“I’ve got it—” and then Chip gasped. “Do they fly?” he whispered, staring up into the distant rafters.

Kim went to the railing and crouched down, leaning out with her head between the rails. She motioned him over. The wheels of his chair hissed against the gantry flooring. He put a hand beside hers on the railing.

“Are they behind the—”

Optimus transformed. And then just stood there, allowing the human to look.

When she heard Chip start breathing again, Kim whispered, “You can still change your mind. He won’t force you to go through with it.”

“Never.”

Kim smiled slightly to herself, flipped Optimus a thumbs up, and left.

***

There was still no sign of Bill when she met Optimus out front. “Just how bad were things in Missouri ?” she asked, as she mounted the step.

Optimus sighed. ”Strongarm got rather carried away and participated in a high speed police chase. She was unable to leave the scene. Someone attempted to touch the arm of her holoform.”

“Ew.”

“Fowler was retrieved by Bridge in order to sort out the situation.” 

“How much trouble is Strongarm in?”

A pause. “If you were not an anthropologist, putting that question to me would be a breach of our military protocol. It would also be considered presumptuous. However. If you were to express vague interest in the topic to, for example, Bulkhead or Blurr, they would share the gossip that she will be patrolling dirt roads devoid of human habitation for the next month.”

“Ouch. I apologize.”

“Rejected. I informed you for professional purposes. Since you will be paying less attention to linguistics...I suppose we should begin work on social hierarchy.”

Kim reached for her bag.

“Not, perhaps, today,” he continued. “My afternoon meeting is cancelled. I thought we might stop for portable food and then take the long way home.”

“What’s the long way home? There’s just Highway 93.”

“Offroading.”

“Oh.” Oh. Oh! “Thai Food?”

“There is one within ten minutes of the front gate. I will not fit in the parking lot, however.”

“I’ll cope.”

*** 

“What are your thoughts on our new linguist?” Optimus asked as he pulled onto the highway.

“If I’d seen any red flags, I would have texted you.”

“That wasn’t quite what I asked.”

“He wasn’t frightened when he saw you. Heh. He was enraptured. Maybe humans can’t use Cybertronix. But he won’t quit trying. How did he take the Decepticon talk?”

“He offered to buy out his own contract and leave Princeton immediately. That won’t be necessary. I have already made the necessary arrangements. However, moving does take humans some preparation. And the human habitat is currently undergoing renovations. Chromia will meet him in New Jersey tonight. She’ll have a copy of your most recent Cybertronix file.”

“And she’s a native speaker.”

They already had the base well behind them and the traffic was quickly thinning. 

“Oh. That reminds me.” Kim tapped through her contacts and ‘called’ Fixit on the not-really-a-phone feature. It didn’t ring, but there was a long silence when the line opened.

“_Kim? I am sorry. I cannot find the specific greeting humans use for electronic communications. ‘Ahoy hoy’ seems to be out of date_.”

“What do you say to Maggie?”

“_Maggie texts_.”

“Oh. ‘Hey.’” And then, “Hey, Fixit.”

“_Hey, Kim. Why are you not texting or scheduling a meeting?”_

“Because it might be complicated and it is better not to wait. It’s about the habitat retrofit.”

“_Yes. I have been informed the tile has arrived! I will go admire it as soon as my shift ends_.”

“Fixit….” He’d already done so much work. But there was no way around it. “We’re going to have to...Universal design. We’re going to have to be universal design compliant. Is that enough of a search term for you?”

“_Universal design--Oh. Interesting_.”

“Yeah. You may have to send the sinks back.”

“_My goodness_.”

“I’m so sorry to spring this--”

“_I had no idea! Why does--oh. That is more efficient.” He paused. “Does the scope of this mandate include colorblindness_?”

“No, that doesn’t matter.” Did it? No, a bathroom wasn’t a powerpoint slide. “Go ahead with the colors you and Maggie picked out.”

“_Some of these floor plans are aesthetically...disappointing_.”

“I’m sure you can manage accessible and pretty both.”

“_Hm. I will have a layout for you this evening_.”

“Thank you Fixit. I appreciate it.”

“_Humans are very...fragile. And it is very difficult to repair you_.”

Kim winced, glanced at the hula-girl shaped sensor node. “Yeah.”

“_Out_,” and the connection severed. Kim supposed he had not found a civilian protocol for ending electronic communication.

“Kim,” Optimus said softly, “Fixit is now comming me to ask if you have been damaged.”

“Oh. Shit. I didn’t think.”

“I am explaining.”

Kim realized she was covering her eyes. No doubt Optimus could read that body language. “Thanks.”

“How is he doing?”

“Ratchet tells me he has integrated the new processor array and has reloaded all of the corrupted data and applications.”

“That’s really good news.”

“As to his state of mind...he shares more of his personal feelings with Maggie, Pierre, and you than with Ratchet or myself.”

“Well...he spends a lot of time with humans.”

A pause. “Kim? Are you concerned that I will take offense if he prefers human to mech company?”

“Um. No. When you put it like that.”

“I calculate the chances Fixit will spend the rest of his life among humans at point nine three. And he will model interspecies friendship for those who come after. It is good.”

Kim thought about Ironhide and Carly and Bobby and said nothing.

“May I change the subject?”

Kim agreed gratefully.

“How is your experience of energon aversion proceeding?”

“It’s more of a disinterest than an aversion. I’ve pretty much given up trying to understand how it works, seeing as how I know my brain won’t connect the concepts anyway. But that might just be normal giving-up, not mysterious giving-up. But I got a box of beads with letters and made a bracelet.” She glanced down. “And I’m not wearing it. I might have taken it off after I showered last night.” She sighed. “If it was something the energon did to me, it would wear off, right? Eventually?”

“I do not believe energon is the cause. I believe it is a property of human cognition.” 

“What about the geologist? And the mine engineer team?”

“They find that part of their work dull and uninspiring. It is a mineral they search for and retrieve, just part of the daily grind and much less interesting than working with aliens, which is ‘cool.’ Since they are not tracking their own thought processes, they do not notice. How are you feeling now?”

“I’ve had to remind myself three times that this is an important conversation. My mind wants to wander. Sorry.”

“Kim, my friend. Do not apologize. I allowed your exposure.”

“Why did you? I mean, you knew….” Kim thought she might have wondered this before.

“I hoped your engagement with the phenomenon would yield useful information. I was confident neither your work nor your health would be compromised--”

That got her attention. “How confident?”

“Point nine four three. Kim. I could not tell you beforehand. I had to know if you--even you, who continually documents and analyzes your experience—would experience the effect.”

“Oh.”

He was silent. The road, straight and empty now, rolled under his tires.

“I’m missing something. What are you waiting for me to ask you?”

“I am waiting for you to ask me why. I have been waiting for a month.”

“I’ve asked you why it happens. You don’t know. You don’t know _why_, you don’t know _who_, you don’t know much about _when_.” She was sure of that. Wasn’t she?

“No. ‘Why do I need to know?’ Why is it so important that I would involve you in this way without your informed consent?”

Oh. Yeah. That was a great question. “Will you tell me?”

“The reaction of humans to energon is one of many--far too many--things I do not know about this planet. Earth is the subject of warnings, a source of danger. It is a literary symbol used to convey an array of complex and frequently ambiguous implications. There was a surprising amount of energon here even before Megatron seeded Earth’s magnetic field. In addition to the planet itself, the dominant species...is enigmatic. There are simply so many low-probability… coincidences. And I cannot tell how many of my calculations are confounded by the simple fact that your brains are analog chemical chains. There are so many...uncertainties. And so many concepts that my own cognition is not equipped to analyze.”

“Hey,” Kim breathed, reaching for the sensor node.

“Can you even focus on this conversation? Can you follow what I am saying right now?”

Kim thought about it for a moment. “You seem to be saying that understanding some parts of Earth are as hard for you as understanding some of your weird physics is for us. You’re saying this planet is freaking you out, because there are too many things you don’t know and some of the things you do know don’t compute.”

“Yes,” he said. “Yes.”

“Do you...still like Earth? You did before the Nemesis came.”

“Yes, Kim. Very much. When I scan the life forms here--even in the desert, where there is considerably less of it than usual--my spark fish hatchery. Oh.” The dash screen blinked on and a spark diagram appeared. “That is a wave form of delight and hope. I suppose a human would say, ‘my heart soars.’ Our word is कθШ도.”

Kim asked him to repeat it, took out her notebook, wrote it down. She took her time putting up the pen. She asked, “Is this conversation hard for you to focus on? Or remember?”

“No. There is no similarity there.”

“Are you afraid Megatron knows more about it than you do?”

“It is likely he does have access to information I do not, yes. And it is likely that--whatever is going on with this planet—it will impact the war. The lack of data is confounding my calculations.”

“I bet that is scary.”

“You are correct.”

“What about Raf? He thinks like both a ‘Bot and a human.”

“Raf’s position…is unique. The only expert on his situation is Raf himself. If you are suggesting I present him with a sample of unprocessed energon, I will not consider it. There is no way to predict his response.”

“No, I wasn’t suggesting that.” Kim closed her eyes.

“Are you unwell?”

“I’m…sorry. It’s my planet. I should know.”

“We shall continue to search. Be brave.”

Kim smiled, ran her fingertips over the sensor node.

The two-lane highway was flat and straight. And empty of other vehicles for miles at a time. It was like a practice perspective drawing, one made with a ruler. They were going very fast. For a while, Optimus played Phil Collins and Bon Jovi on the speakers.

A tap on Kim’s right shoulder. She glanced down; a second seatbelt was creeping around her. “Oh. I didn’t know you’d made another.”

“It isn’t a seat belt. Exactly. It’s for cargo handling.”

“Right. You have internal space for cargo. And no hands.” She ran the fingertips of her left hand over the new restraint. It was narrower and thicker than a seat belt. “Does everyone have these?”

A pause. “Yes. We minimize their use around humans. The analogy to tentacles is…”

“Way over the top alien,” Kim nodded. “Cliché.”

“The comparison of passengers to cargo might cause offense,” he added tentatively.

“No, I’m good.”

She didn’t see the dirt road leading off to the left until they were turning onto it. It shouldn’t have been possible to turn that _fast_, but he had as much control over each individual tire as Kim did over her fingers. The restraints pushed her hard into the seat and then they were flying down a dirt road.

Sort of a road. It was the same color dirt as the desert around it. There were just fewer pale plants growing on it. Ahead—far ahead—the angles of naked Nevada mountains.

“Damn, we can see far,” she breathed. “I’ll never get used to this.”

“I find it…soothing. My sensor field is un-occluded. There can be no ambush here. And if I stay on this road, I cause no damage to its ecosystem, no inconvenience to its inhabitants.” He sounded very satisfied.

“Yeah. Sure. Road.” It dipped slightly, and they caught air. Kim gasped and then laughed. Despite the uneven surface, the ride itself was very smooth. “Alien shock absorbers,” she murmured.

She felt more than heard a deep, resonant trill. Kim was fairly certain it was a protoform happy-sound. It made her smile.

“How hot is it out? Can we open the windows?”

The windows dropped in a snap. The wind was warm, but not hot. The endless landscape of miniature bushes and greyish dirt raced past while the mountains ahead crept closer. Kim leaned her head back against the seat and laughed.

Another low rise, another brief leap of weightlessness, another delicate landing. Damn, he was amazing. Kim gripped the seat with one hand and the restraint with the other. She wondered if she should ‘yee haw’ or something. Surely, there were words to express this feeling.

Kim couldn’t think of them.

The stop was sudden and smooth. There wasn’t a jolt at the end of it, just stillness. “There is a wild burro ahead. I prefer not to disturb it.”

“How about I have lunch?”

So she sat on a rock beside the narrow track of ‘road’ and ate massaman curry and pad see ew in the tiny bit of shade cast by Optimus’ alt.

***

They followed the road west and then north, climbing slowly upward. They were in the pointy, naked mountains now. The soil was darker here, peppered with spiky not-grass and tiny bushes. The sky was blue. Directly overhead the clouds were thin and wispy, but to the west they were low and dark. 

Rain? It didn’t seem likely.

The road got steeper. And then much steeper. Optimus climbed up to a ‘pass’ on a track that had them so vertical that it felt to Kim like a bug clinging to a wall. The drop on the other side was so sharp that Kim couldn’t see the ground past Optimus’ hood.

At the bottom was a narrow creek, barely a trickle of water. There were little trees here. Pinion and Juniper, Optimus told her. She climbed out and walked down to the trees. There were small flowers beside the stream. And butterflies. “God, this is beautiful. We should bring the kids here. How old would they have to be before it would be safe?”

“A few months, perhaps. Earth life is very fragile. They will have to have learned some restraint.” He transformed and stepped down closer to the water. “We will have to walk the next part. There is no road.”

He offered his hand, and Kim climbed aboard. Optimus stepped over the creek and then stepped lightly around little trees that came only to his waste. On soil, his footsteps were nearly silent.

They climbed the next hill. At the top they could see for miles. Optimus sat down and settled against the stony ridge. “Yes,” he said. “It is as beautiful as I had hoped.”

“Are we safe here? Can anyone see us?”

“To the south is a petroglyph area. There may be tourists there. But here we are all right.”

Kim leaned back against him and looked out over the ridge. There was a bird flying in a circle high up and far away. Buzzard? Buzzards were real, right, not just a thing from over-dramatic movies. Or maybe a hawk? Kim had never expected to live ‘out west.’ She was completely unprepared to be a denizen of ‘out west.’

“Thank you for this,” Optimus said softly.

Kim sat up a bit so she could look at his face. “I should be thanking you. You did all the work.”

“Earth’s gravity is lower than Cybertron’s. It was not taxing.”

“Hmm,” Kim said. “Are you being modest? Or dissing my planet’s gravity?”

He chuckled softly. “The gravity is a mercy. We consume less energon, put less wear on engines and joints.”

“Oh. Well. Something about earth that isn’t hazardous or inconvenient.”

“Kim?”

She glanced up anxiously. “What?”

“Tonight, since the humans are off duty, I plan to wake the carrier and his cohort and explain the situation with Flipsides to them.”

Kim blinked. “Oh.”

“A decision must be made.”

“Well…yeah.” It had been three weeks. “I guess…there’s a meeting tomorrow.”

“The meeting is necessary. But the decision is mine.”

“Yeah. I’m…I earnestly sympathize.”

“Thank you.”

They stayed that way for a long time, until a sudden, cool breeze pushed through Kim’s short hair. She sat up and looked around. The dark clouds were much closer. And lower. And darker. “Um, about the weather….?” she said.

“Yes. This was not predicted in this morning’s forecast. We should head back.”

The shortest route to a road was forward, not back. Optimus didn’t bother with climbing; he cradled Kim with both arms and _jumped_ down the side of the mountain.

The drops were infinitely long and shockingly fast, but the landings were not much worse than an express elevator’s. He caught the shock in his knees, bringing them to a gentle stop before jumping again.

It didn’t help to know the landing would be soft. It didn’t help to know that every Earth technology she had ever trusted with her life was put to shame by his mechanics. It didn’t help to know that he would not do anything that might get her hurt. Kim reminded herself of all that. Repeatedly. Breathlessly. In frantic, staccato thoughts. It didn’t help.

Every endless, impossible drop sent her stomach flying out body. Her arms burned with the grip she had locked around his thumb.

After the fourth (fifth?) he stopped and shifted her to a rocky shelf. Kim did not let go, so he cupped his hands around her and leaned in. “Kim?” he said softly.

She nodded spasmodically.

“You are distressed. Are you injured?”

No. She wasn’t.

“Kim? Sonar indicates your strut system is whole and there is no inflammation. Your field is in disarray and the concentration of stress hormones—”

Kim’s teeth chattered slightly as she unclinched them. “Falling. Oh, my god. That’s incredible.” Her breathing stuttered.

“I will not allow you to come to harm. This is the safest course. I cannot protect you from lightening in root form, and there is not room here to shift into alt. Kim? Please believe you are safe.”

She began to laugh. “It’s a reflex. Falling. Like, hardwired. Oh, god that was the best. Fuck roller coasters or water slides. My god.”

“Kim? Are you able to continue?”

“Hell yes. Oh fuck.” She laughed again. “It’s a reflex. Fall. Panic. Adrenalin. And then your brain makes opioids.”

His head pulled back slightly. “Your cognition is compromised.”

“Yes. Wonderfully compromised.” She looked around. Another jump down, about sixty feet. She felt a spike of terror. And then across a small ravine. And then another little ridge—not as high as the one they had just come down, but probably high enough to be fabulous. She laughed again. “God bless the brain’s fear management system.”

Optimus emitted a protomater sound Kim had not heard before and scooped her back in against his carapace. He leaped.

***

They were still running toward the road when the storm broke. It came all at once, like a barrel being dumped out. Kim was in it less than a minute, but she was still soaking when she climbed into his cab. “Oh, damn. I’m sorry about the dripping. I’m getting you wet everywhere.” She snapped the seatbelt into place and tried to wipe her wet face on her wet shirt. She could hear thunder now.

“Check your electronics,” he said. “They are not waterproof.”

“Right, yeah.” Kim pushed wet hair out of her eyes and started digging around in her bag. The rain was a waterfall against the windshield and windows. “Can you navigate in this?”

“Of course. I will have to go slowly because of the mud, however.”

The packet of tissues was protected by plastic. She pulled them out and wiped off her laptop. “You’re fantastic. It must be amazing to be you. Dang, what a day.”

“I was thinking something similar.”

Still dizzy with adrenalin, Kim laughed and sassed him. “That’s odd. You’re already you.”

“And I wonder, if were I a small protein bubble, would I be so brave. Could I defy my own self-preservation reflexes? Would I be so generous with my trust?”

Kim sobered. “I’m sure _your_ fears are all rational. I know some of mine are just chemicals.”

“Well…very few of my fears are a condition of somatic positionality,” he conceded.

Kim was still parsing this when the hissing started. It seemed to come from all directions and vibrate through the cab. “What’s that?” she asked, looking around.

“Sleet.”

“Shit. Okay. _That’s_ not right.”

“Global weather patterns still have not normalized.”

“It’s been, like, almost three months.”

“The situation is unique. Our models are still incomplete.”

They spent the next two hours covering about twenty miles. The rain started and stopped several times, but even during the reprieves thunder rolled overhead and four times Optimus foundered in mud. He always managed to coax and finesse his tires out of it and onto firmer ground. Eventually.

Kim was aware the little sensor interface was very acute; she took deep breaths and reminded herself that it really didn’t matter how _long_ the trip home took. And it wasn’t like he couldn’t transform and climb out of any muddy hole. And even if there was a flash food (those happened in deserts, right?), he was waterproof to—well, Kim didn’t know, but more then the few feet a flood would be. He could take a lightening strike. He wasn’t going to get lost if they were out here in the dark, because he never went out anymore without downloading a complete map back to Jasper.

So, they would be fine. It might take a while, but Kim wasn’t hungry, and he wasn’t injured, and really, this was just an ‘adventure’ not a disaster.

It was almost five when they reached the highway. The second seatbelt retracted and disappeared, and Kim sighed and leaned back. 

“_Slag the orbital watchtower_!” Kim’s eyes widened at the Cybertronix expletive. Optimus rarely cursed. This was one that Windblade had identified as particularly biting, and Kim carefully reparsed it. Then she pressed her lips together: Optimus would surely not have said it aloud if he’d known she could recognize it. 

After a slow count to ten, Kim asked casually, “Something wrong?”

“Arcee has broken cover. There is a civilian witness.” 

KIm shuddered. “Oof! Bill is having a rotten day.” 

“This is not merely a case of explaining a self-driving car and a hologram. Arcee partially transformed.”

“Dang. Is there video.” 

“Thankfully, no.” A pause. “Have you met Nurse Darby’s son?” 

“Yes. What? You’re kidding.” 

A sigh. “You are aware her personal vehicle is malfunctioning again? Chromia has been giving her rides home, however, Chromia has already left for New Jersey. Since the storm seemed to have passed, Arcee was stepping in.”

KIm nodded. She had been given a ride by Arcee once. It was like joining a somewhat flamboyant motorcycle gang. 

“On the way, Ms. Darby asked to check on her son, who was at his place of employment. In fact, the power was out, and he was closing up. They offered him a ride.” 

Kim tried to picture Jack Darby in her head. It was fuzzy. She never paid enough attention to humans. “That doesn’t sound too bad. What went wrong?”

“The precipitation had ended but a wind gust came up. Although Arcee’s alt components are heavier than a genuine motorcycle, it would have upended the aspect carrying Ms. Darby and her son. The other two transformed into their combat modes and braced it.” 

“That...must have been terrifying.”

“I have ordered her to return to base with the humans.”

“Maybe...jack can keep a secret.” 

“He will have to, since his memory cannot be redacted.” 

“Yeah...don’t say that to humans. Ew.” Kim shivered a little and wrapped her arms around herself.

“Are you cold?”

“I’m okay.”

The vents kicked up to a higher and noticeably warmer register.

Outside the rain had eased back to a drizzle. Kim leaned back and closed her eyes.

~TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's only fair to warn everyone. Once. 
> 
> The genre is horror, not existential tragedy. 
> 
> It won't help to know this.


	2. Confounding Factors

They emerged from the tunnel to find far more humans in the assembly area than usual on a Thursday evening. General Morshower, Will Lennox, and Bill Fowler—who had taken off his jacket and loosened his tie and looked altogether like he had had much too long a day—were clustered by the com displays. Carly and Epps were looking casual and disinterested on the balcony. June and her son, with Arcee in her combined root mode standing over them, were seated on the steps.

Kim gathered up her stuff and climbed out. Optimus transformed and Jack’s jaw dropped. Clearly, he hadn’t realized the metal aliens got tha-t big.

June stood up and stepped in front of Jack, who swallowed nervously and tried to slide back on the step. Arcee folded her servos and tilted her head downward.

June waited, chin slightly up, for Optimus to come stand in front of her. “It wasn’t Arcee’s fault,” she said firmly. “It wasn’t Jack’s fault. There’s no point in going there.”

“Agreed. It is a waste to lament what cannot be changed.” He sighed, glanced over at the clustered human authorities. “I think Jackson and I need to have a talk.”

“Sir—” Arcee began. At Optimus’ brief glance, she subsided.

June turned back, kissed Jack on the cheek, whispered something in his ear, and withdrew as far as Kim.

“Mr. Darby,” Optimus said softly. “You would be more comfortable on the balcony.”

“Um. Sure. Okay. Sir.”

“I am not your superior. That is a suggestion.”

Jack climbed the stairs like he was climbing the gallows.

“Oh, God,” June whispered. “But I know—he’s got to understand. He’s got to know why it matters so much—” She hunched inward. Carly and Bobby came over to join them, a sad human solidarity.

Kim could not hear the conversation at the balcony, but it didn't look quite...right. She had seen Optimus give the ‘bad news’ talk before: the Decepticon threat, the stakes of the war, the personal danger to every single person on the planet. It was a sober and firm interaction. 

This conversation was...soft. Optimus was running all the nonverbal subroutines: not just eye contact, but little adjustments, facial expressions, even a rhythmic shift that almost looked like breathing. This wasn’t a conversation breaking devastatingly bad news. He wasn’t scaring Jack Darby into keeping the secret. Jack was leaning in rapt attention against the railing now. This was...well, it was a whole lot like the seduction Optimus used on social scientists.

But what could Optimus need from the boy other than discretion? Of course, at nearly thirty feet tall, it wouldn’t take much pressure to get discretion out of a teenager. Maybe it was only accommodation for Jack’s age--

Kim slowly looked at the gestation pods hanging in the lofty silo. They were heavy enough that moving air didn’t set them swinging. In about three weeks they would hatch. There would be mech babies running (rolling?) in the halls. Right now, the only human juvenile in their lives was set to be Miko Nakadai. 

“He’s planning playdates,” Kim muttered.

“Um, what?” June asked, starting. 

Kim nodded to the conversation over at the balcony. “This isn’t a disaster,” she whispered. “This is a….windfall.” 

“Windfall! My son is involved. My _son_ is involved. I--I can’t--how could I--” she frantically dashed tears away and turned her back to the balcony. 

“Your son is going to teach little baby mecha to play basketball or skateboarding or something. Whatever kids do now. Fish? Make unboxing youtube videos? If any humans are alive in five years, Jack is going to be going on book signing tours. Or working for the UN.” 

June took a quick look over her shoulder. “No…. Of course...not. No.” 

Kim shrugged. “I’m sure he could refuse. But would you? There are aliens right here. And one of them is motorcycles.”

“Oh, my god.” She stared up at the pods. “It takes years for them to mature. I’ve seen the growth models.”

“They’ll be born speaking English. They’re not babies. They’re...sparklings. They won’t just need caretakers. They’ll need friends.” 

“Oh.” June was shaking. 

Kim put an arm around her shoulders. “On the bright side, he’ll have a great time. Everybody wants to hang out with aliens.” 

***

Kim had been to the ‘big’ conference room twice before. It was a hybrid section of Building E: a regular-sized, human conference room perched fifteen feet above the floor of a hanger-sized ‘Bot conference room. The human half was very nice. It had wood paneling and carpeting and fancy wooden table that had screens that rose smoothly from camouflaged hatches. There was a holo-projector in the center.

The ‘Bot side had tasteful, recessed lighting, post-modern steal chairs in varying sizes from ‘dishwasher’ to ‘sedan,’ recessed lighting, and walls painted in swirls and fans of tan. The walls looked bland to humans, but Kim was assured that to mech optics the slightly different shades of khaki and taupe reflected a rainbow of ultraviolet and infrared in a very tasteful mural. Bulkhead had done it soon after his arrival on Earth.

The human conference room was crowded—mostly with people Kim didn’t know. It was more politicians than military, some of it international, all of it on edge. There had never been a live Decepticon captive before.

Optimus, Springer, and Rachet sat on the mech side. Kim wished she were over there, rather than squeezed in between Bill Fowler and a NATO colonel.

The first twenty minutes had been Ratchet explaining—with 3d visual aids—how a ‘flipsides’ was made. Then he took questions. Throughout, Ratchet was nearly unrecognizable: he was patient, direct, and uncritical. He didn’t blink an optic when he got asked essentially the same question three times in a row because the humans kept not understanding the answer. He didn’t snark. Kim was sharply reminded that he had spent a few hundred years as a politician.

When he had resumed his seat, Optimus addressed the meeting. “Last night, I woke the leader of the sedated team and took his report.”

The humans rippled with repressed consternation. Only Galloway spoke. “Are you sure that was wise,” he said darkly. Several of the humans flinched slightly and Morshower and Fowler shot him dark looks. Autobot personnel decisions had to be handled delicately because nobody wanted Optimus horning in in on human discipline or assignments. Requests or suggestions passed back and forth as hints, not public criticism.

Kim quietly took notes.

Optimus continued. “His designation is _Blaster_. He’s a communications and media specialist leading a team of…data collection and analysis specialists.”

Mearing lifted a hand, didn’t wait to be called on, “So they’re spies?”

“Not as we categorize it. _You_ might consider part of his scope of activity ‘espionage,’ but even by your standards it is not a primary function.”

Mearing nodded.

“I explained the situation to him. He was surprised. The scout he knows as Sundoor is a stable, well adjusted individual. For the most part, she is logical, personable, and not given to destructive hobbies.” He paused expectantly. 

The humans glanced at one another. It was Fowler who spoke, “Why is this important? I mean…it’s kind of obvious: if I were creating a sleeper spy personality, I would want it to be likable. We’re missing something.”

“She has been in position for four-hundred and eleven Earth years. If the implanted identity and persona were antithetical to her spark—her own basic nature—she would exhibit….” He paused. “Her communication and behavior would reflect maladjustment. She would not be able to form and sustain effective relationships with others. Her soul would have no peace.” He paused, clearly uncertain of how to explain.

“You’re saying it would cause mental illness,” Kim said.

“An untreatable mental illness. Yes. Treatment which a flipsides would probably be programmed not to seek in any case, because a competent…psychologist,” Kim could hear the effort using the human term cost him, “would detect the processor and memory tampering.”

“Why does it matter that the sleeper spy doesn’t hate being a sleeper spy?” Galloway demanded irritably. “When did we start caring about the mental health of Decepticons?”

“Mr. Galloway, the person Sundoor is an Autobot, and evidence suggests that personality is emotionally healthy and sustainable.” 

Kim gripped her pencil in sweaty hands. Everyone at the human table was looking out at the mecha with shifting horror and disgust. Slowly, Mearing stood up. “Optimus,” she said softly. “If I might have a word in private?”

“Please allow me to finish. I have no intention of reactivating a Decepticon spy. Ratchet assures me we have the resources to excise the locked memory banks and completely replace the central processing array.”

He clearly expected this news to be greeted with relief. Possible even approval, since this meant the Decepticon memories would be available for attempts at forensic reconstruction. The humans had all shifted back slightly and were refusing to look at one another. Kim glanced furtively around. They were possibly the least comfortable humans she had ever seen.

Optimus waited several seconds. At last he said, “I cannot address your concerns if I do not know them.”

Fowler grimaced and glanced around quickly to see if anyone was going to step up. No one did. He sighed. “Prime. It sounds like you’re going to kill the real personality because the fake personality is more convenient. And I guess that… this is war. And this is better for her than dying in combat would be.” He stopped and took a breath. “But to us this sounds monstrous.”

“Or for—he just _explained_ to you that the active personality is a real person!” Ratchet exploded. “I know for a fact that three of you were planning to advocate chopping her up for parts.”

Optimus _hummed_ softly and Ratchet subsided.

“I realize our existence is quite different from yours,” Optimus said. “It is not so different that I do not respect the prior personality. There is no question that this is a tragedy: only one can survive. Or neither. However. The past is not the only consideration. I must also consider the future.”

He stopped pointedly. Kim bit her lip. “We don’t understand.”

“The person allied with the Decepticon cause has no future. Our current calculations show a seventy-eight percent chance that the Decepticons will be driven from Earth in the next five-point-five years. However, their long range outlook is worse. They have no safe, abundant source of energon. They have no allies. They have no mechanism of reproduction. Functionally, the Decepticons are extinct. Only Megatron’s madness prolongs the war. Sundoor can be saved.”

“How would that work…exactly?” someone at the other end of the table asked.

Ratchet said, “Quartz memory can’t be erased. I’ll physically remove as much as is physically safe to cut away. Optimus will redact the index so any remaining files can’t be accessed. Then we’ll completely replace the cognitive array. This will take the longest, because we’ll have to rebuild it from scratch, and the molecular assembly device is booked with more urgent projects for the next six weeks.”

“Like you did with that gate supervisor? Fixit?” Morshower asked.

“Not quite so complicated, in fact. Fixit’s requirements were…particular. The layering for Sundoor will not be as dense and so will take less time.”

“So—wait, when you wake Sundoor up, she’s just going to be fine with finding out she’s a-a construct? Or do we keep that a secret somehow?” Fowler was still looking freaked out.

Optimus sighed. “We do not keep it a secret. If she finds the situation unacceptable, she will be given the option to spend the rest of the war in stasis lock.”

***

Kim refused the offer of a ride back to ‘Bot country. It was a long walk, but it was still cool outside from yesterday’s rain and she wanted to stop and eat some actual cooked food in the dining facility. It was an odd time, so there was no one to eat with. This…wasn’t a problem. Humans were exhausting. So were mecha, come to think of it. People, basically. 

She paused, poking pensively at her salad. Was this just culture shock? Or stress? Or a nefarious, irrational….What exactly had Raf warned her about? Hate? Anger?

She closed her eyes and breathed in. And out. And…no, she still had a warm feeling for most of the ‘Bots. As far as that went, she liked most of the humans. She was happy she wasn’t talking to anyone. But that wasn’t the same as disliking or not trusting them.

Really, living in ‘Bot country on a military base was a lot more…intimate and personal than her thesis research had been in Boston. It was easy to take a day or weekend off there, just step back out into a regular life in her own culture now and then. It had been immigrant _communities_ there, not just one.

She pulled out her phone and called up the image files Fixit has sent her last night. The new designs for the restroom had only three stalls instead of five, but they were more solidly built and more comfortable. One of the showers now had a ‘roll in’ feature and a bench. And three levels of showerhead. She made a note to check what budget that was coming out of. If there was a problem, it seemed only fair to kick in some herself. This was going to be the nicest bathroom she had ever used….

The kitchen looked much the same as the last mockups had. The cooktop was lower and there were no drawers under it now. But that was fine. There was still plenty of storage. The fridge was now a side-by-side. 

Kim shut the phone and sighed. When the kitchen was done, the others would move in. Other humans, in the quiet Cold War hallway that Kim had been happily sharing with undemanding Slipstream and his cat.

It was the right thing to do. This wasn’t just a military base, but the Autobot’s home. They needed normal human neighbors. And Kim _liked_ Carly and Pierre and Maggie. Certainly, more than most room mates she’d had in college or grad school.

This would be fine. It would be good.

She’d put the new guy in the conference room. It was a little bigger. 

And she’d give _him_ the damn keyboard. The one Bulkhead had rebuilt a couple of weeks ago so that each of the keys played Cybertronix phonemes rather than notes. A way for a human to ‘speak’ instead of just writing. Kim had gotten nightmares from it right from the start: she could repeat sentences, but not generate one longer than two words. Using it illuminated just how slowly she thought. Cybertronix was supposed to be fast. It was awful.

Well, it could be the linguist’s problem now.

***

Lunch had been both late and nutritionally complete, so Kim brought a can of ‘breakfast smoothie’ with her to the mesa that evening. As she exited the little human elevator, Brawn, the new guy, stalked past her. There was almost no body language humans and mecha had in common, but ‘angry walk’ was apparently universal.

Following back the way he came, Kim found Optimus parked at the rim, primary sensors aimed at Jasper in the distance.

“Yo,” she said.

His driver’s side door opened.

“So. What crawled up his tailpipe and died?”

“Brawn? He is not settling in as quickly as we might hope.”

“Yes, Brawn. It’s been, like, three weeks. Can we…do something?”

“Unlikely.”

Oh, those one-word answers. “Um. Is it us? Is it humans, I mean?”

He shifted slightly on his tires. “Not specifically.” He paused. “His discontent is not rooted in a dislike of humans.”

“The Decepticons?”

“No. He believes it is a mistake to remain on the planet.”

“He doesn’t want to live here? Did you tell him the weather isn’t usually like that?”

“While the particulars of the environment are not…ideal, his reaction is to the planet itself, rather than the weather or ecology.”

“Huh.” Kim opened the smoothie. It was like pulling teeth tonight. “I would have thought all the energon would have made up for a lot.”

He didn’t answer that.

Kim gently twirled the beads on her bracelet. It was a habit, now, when she was confused. “_Is_ it an energon issue?”

“No.”

“Is it…something else I have difficulty thinking about?”

“Not as far as I know. It is not an issue we have discussed in detail.”

“Okay. So. What’s wrong with the world. Oh, wait! Does Brawn not want to live in the haunted house planet?”

“He does not.”

“Ew. So, what’s the issue? I mean, what specifically is scary about Earth? The general creepiness or—oh. The prophesy. There’s a big evil coming from here in a few hundred years. Right?”

Again, silence. Kim could feel the slight vibration of his torque engine idling through her feet. She wondered if she should let the topic drop. She decided not to: “Are you stressing so much about this you’re running combat protocols?”

A sigh. “In fact, yes.”

“So, what, exactly, is _in_ this literary trope? What is so damn scary?”

“The specific examples are brief and vague. Going back literally millions of years….” He trailed off.

Kim set her smoothie on the passenger seat and laid one hand on the base of the hula dancer shaped sensor interface.

“There is a story,” he said after a moment, “It has numerous versions. We do not have the original form, but we can extrapolate….”

“Tell me. What is the story?”

“There was another universe before this one. Was it like this one? Was it other? We cannot know. We know it ended, collapsing in upon itself. It is beyond us to imagine what it was like, but there were two who knew, two who watched the ending. Did they mourn the loss? Or speed it’s destruction with glee? Howsoever it came to be, they bore witness to the end of the old existence and also to the beginning of this one.”

“Um, wait. Is this about the Big Bang?”

“Yes.”

“They created the universe?”

“That is unclear. May I continue?”

Kim nodded, reaching for her notebook.

“The two were, at the beginning, of one intent. They loved one another deeply. It is said they sang together as the space-time raced outward. It was only later they had a…disagreement. Perhaps something in the Great Fission changed them. Perhaps it was the changed universe that brought them to new conclusions. Certainly, it is pointless to speculate, because we cannot know. Whatever the dispute, in the end they became enemies.”

Through her feet, Kim could feel a protomatter resonance that kind of reminded her of whalesong. She bit her lip.

“They fought. There was great destruction. Or great creation. Their war seeded life in the new universe. Or ruthlessly pruned it.”

“This was…fourteen billion years ago,” Kim protested weakly.

“It is unclear how much time passed before the schism. It may be as recent as five billion years ago.”

Oh. Well then. Just five billion years. Kim took a deep breath. “Is this the Primus and Unicron story?”

“Hound maintains that a better translation would be ‘Germination’ and ‘Entropy.’ But it would be misleading to imply that they are principles. They are beings.”

“And Primus became Cybertron,” Kim said. She knew mecha who had been kindled by Vector Sigma. “And created the Allspark and the Matrix.” She had seen the Matrix and video of the Allspark. They were real. They couldn’t have evolved. Someone or something had _made_ them. If ‘Primus’ was just a story, what reality was it concealing? But if ‘Primus’ was real…. “If Primus is real, why did He allow the civil war?”

“Kim. I am not telling you the story of Primus. I am telling you the story of Unicron. One chapter in particular, the one that troubles Brawn, concerns the final resting place of The Unmaker. All versions agree on the destiny of Primus… but where is Unicron? Has he died? Or only hidden himself away? Did he give in to despair? Is he still sailing among the stars, consuming planets and growing stronger? Or is his corpse here, in this solar system?”

“Ew. That’s….heavy,” Kim muttered. “Wait, when you say _this_ solar system—”

“Yes. Here.”

“This solar system? Or this actual planet?” He didn’t answer. Kim’s hands fisted. “Fuck,” she choked. “Chaos. We’re the Warren of Chaos.”

“That name has been applied.”

“When Fixit said…the Matrix might not produce new-sparks on the Warren of Chaos….”

“He was being literal. There has been considerable…discussion since our arrival. I’m sure you can imagine how gratifying it was, that the Matrix opened and bestowed its blessing.”

Kim sagged, leaning forward so her forehead rested against the steering wheel. “Here. On Earth. It’s not just a salty mudball….Aw. God. Hound!” She took a shaky breath. “He said it didn’t matter…where humans came from. He meant…we’re…ritually unclean. And he doesn’t care. He….”

“Hound has been very clear in his support for humans. Yes.”

“And _you_ like it here.”

“I do. If this is the Warren of Chaos, if humans have risen from the bones of the Unmaker… I am greatly puzzled. I wonder if every single scrap of ‘documentation’ of the early eons is…just wrong. This sphere is a web of beautiful life, not a maw of Death. It is strange, alien life, but it is not evil, not ugly.”

Kim tried to take a deep breath. Everything inside her seemed to be clinching. “It’s trying to kill you. Everything is corrosive or gritty. Oh, God—” Ratchet had been beside himself with disgust when they’d found mold growing inside poor Cliffjumper. Earth was incompatible with mecha. They couldn’t stay.

Optimus actually chuckled. “Salt? Water? Common in the universe. We can adapt. What Earth has that is rare is phosphorous, and that is no special hazard. And energon, which we must have if we are going to survive. Energon is energon, regardless of its origin. Kim. You are panicking. Please stop. I need you to listen now.”

Listen to him. That was her job. Listening to him. “I have been listening! We’re the monsters from your fairy tales. Or—aw.” Her eyes pricked with tears. “This is your hell and _we’re_ the demons.”

“I expected better from you,” he said sternly. “_Your_ people’s oldest tale is the ‘Smith and the Wicked Djin.’ I know for a fact _you_ don’t base _your_ morality or social policy on a fairy tale. Although, now that I look at it, I think that response would be more encouraging than your current reaction.”

“What?” Kim groped for fairy tales—wasn’t ‘Jack and the Bean Stalk’ the oldest? The ‘Smith and the Whatnow?’ “No, it’s not the same. Our fairy tales aren’t about history. Humans haven’t been around for millions of years!”

“No. You evolved on this rock--billions of years after the last trace of Unicron was encountered. The symbols we deploy do not necessarily reflect any truth about you.”

Kim took a deep breath. Shaking, she let it out.

“Brawn is afraid humans might be the spawn of Darkness. There is not even circumstantial evidence to support this. But I have considered the implications, and _if_ his position is correct and the Unmaker is here and Humanity is his descendent, then the evidence indicates that what we have been told about Unicron is a lie. If you germinated as our opposite, how could you be so like us?”

Kim laughed bitterly. “We’re wet and disgusting. We think in analog. We eat living things, we _digest_ other organisms. You’re the most tolerant person I know, and you--”

He cut her off firmly, “How is it, if humans rise from the Destroyer of Worlds, that you are so like us? How is it we understand one another’s humor? That we share the same ideas of love and hate? That we have the same compulsion to seek patterns? The same ways of structuring story? Kim, even how our physical forms are organized is impossibly, absurdly similar. You recognize the most common arrangement of our primary sensors as faces! You have noticed this. You have mentioned it to me.”

Kim closed her eyes. 

“You are not my enemy. No matter how life originated on this planet, you are not my enemy.” He laughed. “Perhaps your species was meant to rise up and venture into space seven hundred years from now. Perhaps it was Unicron himself who seeded the planet with Energon and kept you from seeing it. Perhaps you were meant to be our doom. It doesn’t matter now. Primus has abandoned us. We are here, seven hundred years early. And your people are not our enemies. The grand plans of gods have fallen to dust, and now there are only people, trying to survive.”

Kim swallowed hard. Shaking, she pulled the seatbelt around herself and clicked it. It tightened at once.

He waited.

Kim whispered, “You’re just telling me this now.”

“You needed to know us first.”

“That’s…fair. Is this also why you avoided the religious discussions? About Prime?”

A sigh. Or no. A quiet protoform wail. “No, that was purely selfish. I am your colleague, not your prime. With you, I did not have those duties.”

“I’m not a courtier.”

“I was grateful for your friendship. I remain so,” he said gravely.

“Right. It…it doesn’t matter what we think the stories say or what happened five billion years ago. We are friends. Our people are allies. That is the way things are.”

“We agree.”

“So what are we going to do about Brawn?”

“He is not reassured—either by my logic or by my authority. I will ask Bee to take him to meet Raf at the boy’s earliest convenience.”

“Oh. That’s a good idea.” Kim brightened. “If we were demons, we wouldn’t be able to host a mech soul.”

“Oh. Well yes. When you put it that way….”

“What were you thinking?”

“I was going to have Raf talk to him. He has a different perspective.”

Kim dropped her head back against the seat. “No shit,” she murmured.

“Are you all right, Kim?”

“Yeah. Great. I’ll have no trouble sleeping tonight.” She tried to laugh. But really, her dreams had been bad enough lately without adding in Unicron.

“I can sit with you a little longer. But. I’m sorry, Kim. In an hour I am going to reactivate Blaster, Steeljaw, and Eject. I want to give them the Earth orientation while our human partners are mostly off duty. If they share Brawn’s fears… it will be easier if they are not confronted with humans at once.”

“I thought you had Blaster up last night?”

“Briefly. We shifted all three from stasis lock into recharge. They have been running minor repair applications. It is wrong to put them off any longer.”

“So. Cool. I’ll…meet them tomorrow?”

“I expect so.”

Kim was acutely aware that the sensor hub didn’t just respond to pressure and visual light. He was watching her electromagnetics. She could not consciously, directly control that. She took a couple of deep breaths and tried to remember what it felt like to be calm and happy.

“The mechan are small enough to enter the human areas. If they’re up to it, you could show them around.”

“Oh. Yeah.” It had been minicons who had first taken Kim to the human half of the base. “I’ll report tomorrow night.”

“I must cancel tomorrow’s interview.” 

Oh. Right. That happened a couple of times a week. Kim nodded. “Okay.” She could…enjoy an evening off. There was Italian food in town, sort of. Pizza, anyway. Or she could schedule a language lesson with…someone. Whoever was on base. “Right.”

“Ratchet has scheduled a manual examination. We’ll start as soon as his students are dismissed for the day.” 

Kim glanced up sharply. “Should I ask?”

“You may ask.” 

Kim rolled her shoulders, took a breath, said, “What’s going on?”

“My primary power system is throwing out conflicting error messages. There is a ninety percent probability that the problem is a small build up of uncleared waste material. Ratchet will have to visually inspect the system to be sure.” 

Kim took a deep breath. “The other ten percent?”

“Other malfunctions.”

Kim clinched her fist so hard that her wrist popped. English wasn’t specific enough for her to tell if he was being tactically vague or not. “Is it…would it be bad?” 

“You are asking if I am facing arduous repairs?” 

Kim nodded, although that was not the worst thought running through her mind. 

“No. I am experiencing no loss of efficiency. If Ratchet were not monitoring me already, the minor inconsistencies in my power system would not warrant attention. If intervention is needed, it will be negligible.” 

“Okay. Good to know.” She took another deep breath. “So. I don’t happen to have any plans for tomorrow evening.” 

He nodded once. “Better, but too indirect. I have informed you of the details. You can take the request for company as given. Do not hint that you are available.” 

“Right. Sorry.” She was determined not to crap out on him again. “What time do you want me to be there?” 

“Perfect. Eighteen hundred.”

Optimus stayed on the mesa to make some calls, so Kim came down the human sized elevator. When the door opened on to the balcony she found Ratchet in the assembly area, staring up at the gestation pods. “Babies okay?” Kim asked.

Ratchet snorted. “1B has hacked the transponder we use to monitor sparkling development and is demanding access to the network.”

Kim’s eyes widened. “Damn. Wow. Human kids usually wait till they’re born to ask for the wifi password.”

“So do ours,” he said sourly.

“Wait, you can’t let it get to the internet! It makes our AIs crazy!”

“I am aware of that. I suppose I could set up a limited, isolated network for it to play with. This is so irregular.”

Kim craned her neck upward. “Bad?”

“Certainly inconvenient.”

***

Blaster turned to be the flame-colored big one. He and the two little ones—little! One was the size of a tall, skinny man and the other was quadrupedal and nearly five feet long—were delighted to have Kim placed at their disposal. They had apparently spent most of the night rifling through Earth’s mass media, and they had Questions.

The questions were orderly, patterned: different categories of entertainment programming, both corporate and indy; different categorizations of news media, including blogs; sports, both amateur and professional. Kim settled the mechin, Eject and Steeljaw, on the balcony while Blaster leaned jauntily against the edge.

They were avidly curious. The questions seemed endless: was gambling regulated by the government? How did video game become a premier art form so quickly after being invented? Why were some sports teams affiliated with educational institutions? Why was there no professional Quidditch league? Why wasn’t opera more popular? Did singing about coitus make the activity more enjoyable? What was the reason for advertising food--humans had to eat, that would be like advertising energon, what was the point?

It was one in the afternoon before Blaster had to excuse himself for a meeting. Kim suggested a tour of Human Country for the mechin. She could pause and grab a sandwich at the DFAC, because she hadn’t eaten in seven hours and, damn.

“You move rather slowly,” Steeljaw said as they turned the corner and put the infirmary behind them. Steeljaw was…sort of catlike. There were four legs. And claws. And kind of a mane of sensor antenna around its face. His face? 

“Yeah. I _can_ go faster, but I don’t have the stamina of a mech. I would think it would be nice to walk around. The ship was kind of small, wasn’t it?”

“We weren’t awake for most of that,” Eject said. His voice was mid-range and mellow, with clear articulation and rounded vowels. He sounded like a sportscaster. Probably, that wasn’t a coincidence. “But you’re right. It is a thrill to see someplace new.”

“We’re coming up on the Ground Bridge next. That’s probably less exciting for you than for us.”

She introduced them to Fixit and Maggie and Bert Cho, who was the trainee from China. The new guys were formally polite in their careful, new English. They admired the Bridge facility and asked permission before scanning the humans.

As they walked away, however, Eject leaned down and said something swift in Cybertronix. Probably it was nothing, but Kim had visions of disaster. If mecha had something polite to say, they usually said it out loud in English. “So, I recognize a surprise modifier there. But I can’t tell if it was ‘disappointed surprise’ or ‘irritated surprise.’” She smiled innocently.

Steeljaw tossed its (her?) head so that the sensor cables tinkled and rustled, and said in a forties movie accent, “Well, how fascinating. You speak our language. Organics don’t usually do that, do they Eject? That’s marvelous.”

“Oh, no! I don’t speak Cybertronix, not by a long shot. I’m trying, but I’m awful.”

Eject looked her up and down. “No ports to jack into. Poor thing. I’ve learned a language the hard way. I sympathize with your suffering.”

“So, come on,” Kim pressed. “What’s surprising? That humans are trusted with a Bridge?”

“Well. That is unusual.” Steeljaw’s tail swished. “You must be very close allies indeed. It is a tremendous show of trust.”

Kim made a face, turning toward them to play up all the body language signals she could. “We couldn’t build one. Even if we understood all the technology, which we don’t yet. About five percent of the parts…we can’t manufacture. And even if we could make a gate, we couldn’t run it without a ‘Bot. Fixit or somebody has to do a big system adjustment every couple of days. We don’t have a computer that can handle the calculations.”

“Perhaps you don’t realize,” Steeljaw said, padding a little closer beside Kim, “It’s unusual for a minicon maintenance drone to be promoted to Bridge supervisor. Of course, everyone says the Prime is progressive….”

Right. There we go. Kim started assembling a snide comment—except, no, this was the time to be completely direct and clear. She stopped and turned to face him. “Okay. You need to know this. Fixit is adored on this base. He’s—fantastic at the bridge. Intelligent. Reliable. Creative. Easy to work with. His coworkers won’t give you the time of day if you’re rude to him.”

“Wait, why would we need the time of day—” Eject began.

The metal cat creature chimed a warning at him.

“Everybody else? When he’s not on the Bridge, he’s subbing in the infirmary. He has worked on everybody. And he’s reliable and gentle. Also, the humans here know drone is an insult and we _don’t_ know the difference between a mechin and a minicon.”

Eject _ticked_ and _hsssed_ softly—a systems check. Steeljaw’s mane rustled. There was a long silence in the tunnel as they (certainly) carried out a quick radio conversation. Kim waited.

“We apologize if we’ve given offense,” Steeljaw said.

Kim sighed. “That’s why you’ve been handed off to me, probably. It’s my job to not get offended and to explain things.”

The antenna—they were bundles of fine cables and actuators, tapered at the end. The effect was like a lion with a very glamorous hair style—shifted slightly toward her. “You find out things, too, yes?” Steeljaw sauntered on and Kim followed. “Would you like to know what it means to be mechin?”

“I’m interested. I can ask someone else, if the question offends you, though.”

“We’re small, but not cold-forged or a product line. We’re all completely custom jobs. Specialized. Expensive.”

“That sounds nice,” Eject cut in. “It wasn’t always, at the end. Standards dropped. There was indenturing. Compulsion. We got lucky with Blaster. Not everyone was.”

Steeljaw’s claws _clink_ed against the floor. “Blaster was a…media hub, an influencer, before the war. We were very spoiled.” The speaking voice Steeljaw seemed to have settled on was in the middle range. The accent she had at first thought was British was now definitely too crisp and sharp and Bostonish for that. Carry Grant? Catherine Hepburn?

“So, um, Steeljaw,” Kim braced herself and dove right in. “Can I ask, what are your pronouns.”

“Excellent. What a very perceptive question. I am, in fact, λ린λ. It reflects that I am a bonded mechin without encumbrance.”

Kim pulled out her notebook and wrote down this very interesting piece of information, pretending it was what she had actually asked. “Now,” she tried again, “What about English? How is it polite to address you?”

“There is only one nominative pronoun in modern English. ‘You’ is acceptable.”

“No, what I meant...most mecha pick a gender presentation. It’s a thing.”

Eject shrugged. “The default seems to be male. I can’t see how it matters.” He was sounding more and more like a sportscaster: accentless, crisply articulated, enthusiastic.

“Oh, please. As though I have ever been ‘default.’ However, the alternative is ‘female,’ and that category implies weakness and frivolity.”

Oh, damn. Kim took a breath. “Okay. Well. ‘They’ is also an option.”

“The plural--oh, I see. The royal ‘We.’ That might suit.”

Kim’s breath caught. “No, you would still use ‘I.’ Other people would use they-them when talking about you.”

“And that is really all the options there are?”

“In English,” Kim admitted.

“Well then, let’s avoid the issue by switching to Mandarin,” Eject was noticeably experimenting with broad hand gestures, and his face plates were shifting for experimental smiles.

“I don’t speak Mandarin,” Kim said. She wondered about just borrowing whatever Chinese universal pronoun Steeljaw seemed to find acceptable. There was no way this was going to end well anyway.

“But it’s a human language!” Eject brought up his arms in surprise just a hair late; the effect would have been amusing if the current conversation weren’t using up all Kim’s bandwidth.

“Yes. There are about six thousand and I speak two and a half. We don’t download them.” She held out her arms, showing the complete lack of dataports. “We’re organic. Our brains are analog--” She broke off. All of Steeljaw’s antenna were pointed at her now. “Um. Have I freaked you out? Or something? I know it’s a lot to take in all at once.”

Steeljaw stepped closer. The head was at waist-level and not terribly large, but the corona of sensors made it seem twice as big. And look! There were whiskers on its nose. Snout. Bucal casing? They were finer and longer than cat-whiskers. And they were brushing over her arm. As gentle as a breath of air. Across her arm, her tee-shirt. Kim held her breath.

“Oh, I just love exotic aliens, don’t you, Eject? It’s been so long since we met a new species. And so few of them are sentient. This is much better than I expected.”

“Well, I did tell you,” Eject said.

Abruptly, Steeljaw swung away, the antenna going mostly slack. “Let’s go. I want to see more of humans.”

Kim paused to introduce the new arrivals at every office and bullpen they passed. Although about sixty soldiers deployed regularly with mecha to go on patrol or retrieve energon or (too often really, when Kim thought about it) combat, most of the NEST staff didn’t actually spend that much time talking to them.

They toured the personnel office, the FBI corridor, logistics, the printshop (so much of their business was conducted on paper; it felt practically nineteenth century), and a restroom. Kim was starving by this time. “You’re going to watch a human eat, now. I’ll warn you, it’s gruesome.”

She had forgotten about the karaoke machine.

By this time, it was well past lunch, but two of women from signal corps were on break. They were singing a decidedly creepy-sounding song about pretty women. The mechin were riveted. When they left, they made Kim show them how the machine worked. Kim pulled up the theme for Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood—it was very simple, and she knew it well enough that her sketchy sense of pitch could reliably find the notes.

Then they wanted to sing in English too. One of the base nurses showed up. She taught them ‘Girls Just Wanna Have fun.’

~TBC


	3. Significant Figures

There was a pile of metal…things beside the balcony steps. Bulkhead was staring pensively at the pile. “Art installation?” Kim said. The mechin had finally been called away by Blaster, and Kim, numb from their exuberance, had made her way back to ‘Bot country.

“Elevator.”

Kim brightened. “Oh. Cool.”

“No. This kit is scrap. I’ll have to start from scratch. I’ll be back from patrol on Sunday morning. I’ll fix it then.”

“Taking Miko with you?”

A sigh. “Yeah. She goes to school now. We only get weekends.” He sounded like a non-custodial parent. Kim smothered a smile.

Kim went into the Cold War corridor to wash her face and refill her water bottle. When she came out, Optimus was waiting beside the railing. “Am I late?” Kim asked.

“No. Ratchet and Ms. Spencer are taping up a small leak in Blurr. We will wait until they are finished. How did the new arrivals do?”

“They discovered karaoke. They seem to be glad to be here.”

“They spent most of the last seventy-five years on an atmosphereless rock attempting to repair a space ship so they could escape.”

Kim winced. “That little ship they came here in?”

“Another. Their journey has been complex. But you should get the story from them.”

Kim nodded.

“It seems that Steeljaw has selected they/them/their.”

“Oh. Yeah. That may be my fault. I know you disapprove—”

“Humans expect life to be sexed. Our survival depends on not being considered unliving machines.”

“Biological sex is irrelevant here, and gender is a social construction. It’s not real. For you guys it is an outright lie.”

“If you consider gender as performance, it is _not_ a lie.” But he sounded almost hesitant.

“I get that Arcee thinks it’s funny to pretend to be a girl. And I get why you don’t want to be considered a mom. But it isn’t fair to make Steeljaw live a lie. And humans…I get why you don’t trust us. I know we are terrifying.” She sighed. “I think we can handle this. Give us a chance.”

He looked at her for a long moment. “My presentation is interpreted as masculine. And I cannot afford to be perceived by human politicians or soldiers as otherwise. I have found Bumblebee’s initial analysis of Earth sexism to be accurate. Even on this continent, which expresses great pride in abandoning traditional ideas, gender nonconformists are murdered.”

“That is _not_ a reason to spread our insanity to you!”

He leaned down, his head passing over her shoulder, so close it rustled her hair. His protomatter was humming like a very quiet tuba warming up. “I promise we do not believe it.”

“I do believe it. I…learned it, and I can’t forget it.”

“We have our own insanities. I sympathize,” he said gently.

Kim sighed. It was a capitulation.

“However, sooner or later humans must confront some of our alienness. Steeljaw…is very….”

“Oh, yes. Very.”

Kim glanced around. Bulkhead had gone. As was often true, Kim was the only human in Bot country on Friday afternoon. This time, though, there were no mecha around either. Optimus set the schedules. Minor as this exam was, he had cleared everyone out. 

“Is Ratchet still busy?”

“A few more minutes.”

“How is our new linguist?”

“Chromia has altered his phone and installed the glyph app, as well as the phoneme game. It seems he is very keen.”

Kim smiled sadly. Her linguistics just wasn’t up to it. She tried not to be too embarrassed. “The sooner the better.”

“Your human enclave is coming along nicely.”

My_ human community. As if_. But she would be the RA for this little dorm. “We’ll run out of offices on the first floor soon.”

“I wish there was a way to relocate Miko and Jack to the base, but reducing contact with human peers would inhibit their own development.”

“Oooh. Yeah. You want the teenagers to visit.” She glanced up at the sparkling pods. “They won’t be at the same development stage, will they? The kids all need a little space.”

“Perhaps so,” he said.

“They’ll be fine. Better than fine. They’ll be so loved.”

“Ratchet is ready.” Even as he spoke, Blurr zipped by on the way to the ‘Bot commissary and sleeping quarters.

“Can I have a ride?”

He lowered a hand.

Ratchet had opened one of the steel medical berths. He was wiping down a set of tools and disappearing them into his subspace. Kim looked closely—but Ratchet didn’t sprout weapons mounts or extra armor when he was irritated. You couldn’t tell be looking. Oh, well. Hope for the best. 

“Hi,” Kim said, as Optimus gently set her down on the instrument table and lowered his frame onto the berth. She folded the jacket she had tied around her waist into a cushion and sat down on the edge with her feet dangling a couple of feet from Optimus’s left audial antenna array. Barely glancing at her phone—she had queued it up in advance—she sent the glyph request for a time ping. 

“Why?” Ratchet asked testily. “Are we keeping you from something?”

“It is a commentary on human greeting protocols,” Optimus answered. 

Ratchet snorted. “Good evening to you, too,” Kim said to him. 

“Don’t sass me earthling.” Despite the words, his tone had relented slightly. “All right. You know what you’re doing by now. Ignore what I’m doing. Talk to him. Shut up if I tell you to.” 

“Yes, Ratchet.” 

A private channel glyph from Optimus: _grumpy_. Kim looked up and smiled. 

Ratchet began transforming his fingers, one at a time, into mysterious instruments. “Prime? Do you want a medical interface?” he asked briskly.

“No. I’m fine.” 

“Open up then.” 

Kim tried not to glance over that the clicks and snaps of retracting panels. Human doctors had to slice their patients open. It was brutal, the way humans had to do it. This was just…tidy. She rolled her shoulders. “So, we’re supposed to talk about something embarrassing.”

“That is one path, yes. Have you observed any errors of mine that you would like to discuss?” 

“Hm.” She made a face. “Nope. Not going there. Oh. Hey.” She waved at the retracted armor. “There are body parts humans find embarrassing. Are any mech…I mean, are there…? Do you _mind_ having your innards all hanging out?”

He nodded as much as his position on the berth would allow. “Humans find the exposure of normally-covered body parts embarrassing. Mecha do not wear clothing.” 

“Armor, though,” Kim said. 

“Not the same.” 

“Well what about if—that is, when the war ends, will you wear as much armor? Would it feel awkward, to have less? Or have some of it removed?” 

“It would feel lighter,” Ratchet said sourly. 

It was heavy? “Of course, it’s heavy.” 

Optimus sighed. “When the war ends…. We have become accustomed to the weight of our plating. It may take a while to shed some of the shielding. But it will not be embarrassing.” 

“What about protomatter? That’s not normally something people can look at. I mean, it’s normally covered.” 

“Protomatter is not embarrassing.” 

“Perhaps,” Ratchet said slowly, “an item has to be observed by a human for embarrassment to be evoked.”

“That seems unlikely,” Optimus said. 

“I don’t think that’s how it works,” Kim agreed, shooting Ratchet a dirty look he ignored. 

Ratchet grunted. “Try it out. There’s some right here.” 

Optimus shrugged slightly, his movement limited by the supporting berth. “Test the hypothesis.” 

Kim made a face at him but gingerly stood up and walked to the other end of the narrow worktable to look down. The carapace was tidily folded back out of the way, and the layers of cables and tubing had drawn themselves aside. Kim blinked, trying to map the machinery she was seeing to Ratchet’s physiology diagrams. The grey-green, soft-looking nodes the size of Kim’s head were…maybe insulated memory nodes? Memory was stored deep within—although so was the power plant— God, he was open deep.

She had expected protomatter to pool, like mercury. Or sprout and branch in delicate filaments. And she had seen it silver and rainbow and black. This was dark grey—or pink?—and coiled in skeins, like sleek metallic embroidery floss. The strands cradled the memory nodes, winding around them….

“Are you looking? I am not feeling embarrassment,” he drawled with exaggerated patience.

“I’m looking. Um. Humans observation isn’t what causes the phenomenon. It’s just the perception of being observed.” This was a little surreal. But they weren’t being serious, they were being distracting. Kim glanced at Ratchet. “Why does protomatter change colors?” 

Ratchet’s head lifted slightly in surprise. “What do you mean, ‘change colors?’ It doesn’t change colors.” He leaned forward, head beside Kim’s, peering down into the open chassis. “It can’t change colors.” He looked back at Kim’s. “Is your optical system malfunctioning?” 

“She is not malfunctioning,” Optimus said. “Light refection from the protomatter’s surface is too complex for human eyes to categorize. Their brains must extrapolate a guess about the color based on context.”

Oh. “Yep. Analog brain.” Kim managed a smile and returned to her place at the other end of the table. “So. Attempting to be distracting.” 

“I have some questions, actually. Topics too trivial for our usual meetings.” 

“Oh. Good. My ideas seem to be falling flat.” 

“Limericks.” 

Kim sagged slightly. “Oh. Of course.” That had to come up eventually. 

“The form is very rigid, but the content is often whimsical or irreverent.”

_There was an old man from Nantucket_. Kim winced. 

“It is puzzling,” he continued. “Sonnets are as precisely structured, but the content is almost always serious.” 

“A sonnet is a much more difficult form. It takes a lot of skill and effort to make a sonnet. I could probably make a limerick and I don’t have any special talent or training.” 

“A sonnet seems more difficult to you?” 

“Not to you?” 

“No. Both are quite simple.” 

“Oh.”

“Also, haiku is generally considered a very serious poetic form. However, there is a large body of haiku about spam. I do not have the background to analyze food humor. If, indeed the spamku are humorous.” 

Kim laughed weakly. “You’ve been saving this, haven’t you?” 

“It was a low priority question.” Mecha don’t get a mischievous glint in their eyes when they tease you. 

Kim chuckled. “Yeah. I can help a little with the spamku. I’m pretty sure it’s a geek thing—computer programmers really like structure. And some kinds of subversive discourse—spam is trivial and a little gross, if you think about it.” 

“Ah.” There was a soft clank. Kim glanced furtively at his torso. Ratchet’s arms were buried elbow-deep in the mechanisms there. Optimus stiffened and then visibly forced himself to relax. “Have you ever written any?” 

“No, sorry.” Was she sorry? Did she want to be reciting joke haikus to a partly-disassembled alien head of state? “Maybe not sorry. I was never that kind of geek. I was more interested in marginality than structure.”

“Oh. Free form poetry, then.” 

“Oh, no. Most of that is just weird.” 

The little lenses of his optics flattened and then went tight again, watching her closely. “Not a fan of poetry?” 

“Not at the top of my list. Oh—but,” Kim winced inwardly. “I’m sure I’ll like Autobot poetry. When we really get into it. Jazz has played me some, but we haven’t done the translations yet.” 

The silence was short, but awkward. Silences were not distracting. Kim could hear Ratchet’s servos moving around inside, shifting internal organs. Machinery. “If you have a favorite poem, Optimus, we have time now.” 

“That is a rather complex discussion for this venue. Perhaps another time.” His shoulders shifted against the berth. 

“Hold still,” Ratchet muttered. “And… Drop your energon pressure to twenty percent.” 

Kim did a double take, her gut clinching. “Is this going to be distressing?” she asked. 

“No, I don’t have to drain the system.”

“I apologize, Kim. This is a poor substitute for our usual interview.”

“No, it’s fine.” That didn’t sound convincing. Quickly, she added, “Whatever we’re doing, I’d always rather be with you than not. This is—” 

Optimus’ surprised head-tilt was clanged against the berth, but from the other direction Ratchet’s vocalizer released a long burst of static and then a purr of ticks that from any other mech Kim would interpret as a peal of laughter. Kim glanced back at Ratchet. His arms had stilled. His optics reset. 

Well, damn. “What did I say that was so funny?” She relaxed slightly—intercultural screw-ups would qualify as ‘distracting.’ That was her job right now, to hold Optimus’ attention. 

“It was not funny,” Optimus said firmly. “The words glossed directly to a…cultural trope. A cliché. One that was out of place in this context.”

“It was funny,” Ratchet corrected, already back at work. “It was comic genius.” 

Kim leaned slightly forward. “What was the cliché? What did I say?” 

“It does not translate,” Optimus said quellingly.

“You asked him to marry you,” Ratchet said with a human-style chortle. 

Kim rolled her eyes. “No, I didn’t. Bots don’t get married. Seriously. What did I say?” 

“Well, we don’t get married in that our intimate relationships are not linked to reproduction or your ridiculously protracted offspring-mentorship cycles. And your culture prefers monogamy, which…no.” He did a credible eye-roll with a flick of his optic lenses and shrugged.

“Ratchet,” Optimus said tightly. 

“Right, fine. Cultural relativism. The joys of diversity. Whatever. So, no, maybe marriage isn’t the best translation. It might be better to say you suggested you move in together.” 

“No,” Kim whispered.

Ratchet chuckled again. 

“Linguistic happenstance,” Optimus said softly. “It is not important, Kim.” 

Oh, hell. “So…better or worse than the time I accidently threatened to murder him with a vacuum cleaner?” she asked, unable to force a smile. 

“That wasn’t actually funny,” Ratchet said. “Bulkhead teasing Drift afterward for being stupid was what was funny there.” 

“Oh.” Kim took a deep breath. “So, what—specifically—was funny this time? About what I said. Was it that I was proposing by accident? Or that I was doing it in the middle of a medical procedure? That’s gotta be awkward. Or, um, was it funny because he lives in a barracks and I already live as physically close as we can manage?” 

“Oh, yes, all of that was amusing.” Ratchet lifted a hand free and transformed two of his digits into new and weird tools before reaching back in. 

Kim nodded slowly. 

“Kim,” Optimus said softly. “I am not laughing.” 

“No, you’re always very gracious with my mistakes.” She tried to swallow. Her mouth was too dry. She glanced at Ratchet. “Was it funny because I’m a wet little alien from the Warren of Chaos and his person is holy? Or was that part just insulting?” She felt herself going hot. Shame, not just at the mistake. “Lèse majesty.”

Ratchet’s hands stilled momentarily. “Funny, certainly,” he said briskly. “The idea is absurd. A human. And, of course, you took it out of order. The idea of moving in with someone when you’ve never networked with them—it would be eccentric to say the least. Of course, humans can’t interface—” He broke off. “I’m…certain no insult was intended, however.” His inflection had gone flat by the end of the sentence. 

Kim nodded again. She glanced at Optimus. He wouldn’t look in her direction. “How much--How.” She had to start again. “How much of an apology is this going to take?” 

“Translation errors are to be expected in a cultural exchange. I have not been offended. You will not apologize.” But Optimus was still not looking at her. 

“Optimus, I need you to retract your distal flange,” Ratchet said. He speaking English, but wasn’t using the nonverbal pack. Annoyed? Embarrassed for her? Or just busy?

Kim opened her mouth. Closed it. Nodded. In the silence she could hear the click and scritch of Ratchet’s tools. She should be talking. That was her job here, to distract him, to lighten the mood. 

Well. The inadvertent proposal had been funny, at least. Hadn’t it? 

She should say something. She should laugh at this mistake. It wasn’t the worst she had made. She should say something. 

“Kim, I am not laughing,” Optimus said softly.

“Optimus, keep that flange out of the way or I’ll have to jack in and override the reflex.” 

She was cold now, instead of hot. The tingle in her eyes would be tears if she blinked. Kim stared down at the distant floor. 

“Ratchet has given only minimal thought to human physiology and perception. It has not occurred to him that no mech would ever communicate such affection and regard without already being sure it was returned. He has no interest in human arts or literature, so much of which is taken up with the anxiousness of uncertainty and the pain of loneliness. Our fields can be disciplined, but not nearly so closely as human body language. Affection is made visible long before it is spoken of.”

Kim managed to swallow. “That’s…important. I should write it down.”

“We are not working now.”

“Right. Sorry.” Kim took a deep breath. “I—”

His frame shuddered, vocalizer spitting out an aborted burst of static before going still. 

Ratchet cursed softly in Cybertronix. “There’s a lesion. Two. Three. Five.” 

Optimus shifted, stilled. 

“This Unmaker-consigned planet.” Ratchet sighed. “Do you need—” 

“I have cut the sensitivity. Begin.” 

“Can I ask what’s happening?” Kim whispered.

“There is some minor oxidation in my conversion intake. The corrosion must be excised from the surface.” 

“It’s not bad enough to replace the part?”

Ratchet sighed. “Even on Cybertron, when we had spare parts lying around, for such small lesions…It would be as much repair time to integrate a new protoform part. But as we don’t have replacements in stock and the backlog of priority projects is several months long…”

Kim nodded dimly. She couldn’t picture the part in question. The details of power systems had not been covered in Ratchet’s lectures; trainees would never be allowed to repair those components on anyone. “What do I—tell me what to do?” 

“It would be helpful if you continued to speak with me.” 

“Right. Yes. Any topic you want.” 

“The current topic is acceptable.”

The current topic? Kim blinked. “Don’t worry about that. Okay? I’m over that. It doesn’t matter. Let’s…revisit poetry? How about that favorite poem? Or—I think there might be irreverent riddles? Jazz mentioned--” 

“I do not wish to discuss poetry at this time. Kim. I am not laughing. I have also not refused.” 

“Refused what?” She glanced at Ratchet, but he was bent over the open chassis, absorbed in his work. Kim tried not to picture what he was doing. She had seen rust ground out of mesh not long ago. Jetstorm had done a series of assignments in abandoned salt mines and had some oxidation along the edge of a scratch on his shoulder. Ratchet had a finger that transformed into a tiny dremel. 

“Unfortunately, as you point out: I live in a barracks and your residence is already as close as could be managed without major structural—structural—” His vocalizer reset. 

Kim wiped her sweaty hands on her jeans and, steadying herself on the edge of the table, slid down until her toe touched a berth support. “I’m moving,” she said. “I’m close.” 

“Be careful—”

“Yes. I might fall. You might move and crush me. How about some more sensor attention on the human? Don’t worry about what Ratchet is doing. Ratchet has everything covered. You’re fine. But I’m moving out of your direct field of vision. Tell me about your safety protocols.” She laid a hand against the etched surface of Optimus’ helm for balance as she stepped carefully along the wide struts. 

“I am tracking you…magnetically and by infrared.”

“Don’t pay attention to Ratchet. He’s doing his job. More attention on the human. He’s not the problem. I am. What am I doing up here?” She covered the small indentation that marked the infrared sensor with her hand.

“Don’t,” Ratchet snapped. “If you bring his combat subroutines on line, we’ll have a whole new set of problems.” 

“My threat identification protocols are robust enough to identify an unarmed ally, thank you, Doctor.” 

Kim sighed. “Yeah. That’s about the size of it. Unarmed ally. The worst thing I’m going to get up to is saying stupid things.” She lifted her hand slightly. She wasn’t sure how much sensor bandwidth she could occupy. Perhaps a lot, if she could keep his attention on this input. "You aren't going to let this go?" she asked hopelessly. 

"You are distressed. To pretend I do not notice--to ignore your distress--would be cruel." 

"It would just be less embarrassing.” 

“My friend.” 

“I'll get over it."

"I perceive you are ashamed and sad." 

She sighed inwardly. "Of course you do."

"Kim, Ratchet will apologize for mocking you later. He cannot spare the attention now, but he does understand that every complex undertaking will involve failures. He has engaged in many complex endeavors himself. This miscommunication is not worse than many of his own--"

"I'm not upset with Ratchet!" _God, stop. Please stop_. 

"I see." He paused. "If Ratchet's reaction is not the issue, then perhaps my own...?"

Kim leaned slightly forward and rested her forehead against the side of his helm. "No," she whispered. 

"Kim, I also prefer your presence to your absence." 

"You don't have to say that."

"You will not know it otherwise. You cannot see my field."

"Oh."

"You warned me, in the beginning, that our relationship would be taxing."

Taxing. Jesus. "Because what we were doing was hard. Not because. Not because I was going to screw up and--I don't even know what I've done. Propositioned an informant? Come on to my boss?" She fought down a wave of panic.

"You have done neither. Those are biological interactions that simply do not apply to our situation."

“Right. I can’t put you in an …awkward position.” Dear God, if only she could leave. But to abandon him in the middle of having his power system worked on—Kim understood enough about mech anatomy and error systems to know her embarrassment was trivial compared to having a power system repair. 

She had to let this go. Change the subject. It was nothing--

“You couldn’t in any case. On almost every axis, I have more authority and freedom than you do.”

Kim closed her eyes. She could smell scorched metal. Ratchet was removing rust lesions with a grinder. A tiny grinder probably, because mech power systems were much smaller than the bulky internal combustion engines human technology used. And most of power systems were protoform parts. 

There was rust. Because Earth was wet and salty and gritty and maybe the Warren of Chaos. _Aw, God_.

Wrong god.

Kim ran her hand lightly over the etched surface of his helm, letting her fingertips circle the infrared sensor. "How is it going with Ratchet?" 

"He is packing the transfer component with repair nanites. I will have to manage with secondary power systems for the next orn." 

Kim winced sympathetically. "The privacy annex?"

"If we manage my schedule correctly, we will be able to conceal extended recharge periods from our NEST allies."

Kim nodded. "You going to be okay?" 

“Yes, Kim. Do not worry.”

“What about fussing? Can I do that?”

“What would it entail?” 

“I’m…not actually sure. You’d have to tell me.” She thought for a minute. “You like getting washed.” 

“Contraindicated,” Ratchet said firmly. “What would help is repair cycles.” 

Kim leaned against the broad curve of helm, bowed her head. “And we don’t want NEST to notice the down-time. Right. Right. I could donate the evening interview time. Nobody expects to talk to you then. They won’t know you’re napping.” 

“No. Thank you. Your work is a priority.” 

Kim forced a gruff snort. “You aren’t my only informant. I’ll use the time for fieldnotes. Nothing will be wasted.”

“He’ll take it,” Ratchet said. 

***

It was an awful night. The nightmares weren’t about whirling Cybertonix phonemes. They were about sleet in the desert: cold and wet and endless, spattering of ice on stone forever in all directions.

And then she woke up and remembered she was embarrassed, and that Optimus was on light duty because Ratchet had ground rust spots out of his power system. And wasn’t that lovely? Rust. Score another point for fucking Unicron.

She jelled her hair and put on earrings. She checked the calendar—and, right. In place of her two-hour interview bloc with Blurr she now had an appointment with Hound.

Well. That happened pretty quickly. He’d been in the Sahara until—oh. Still there. Not scheduled to Bridge in for twenty minutes.

Kim was waiting when Mirage and Hound came cruising out of the Bridge. Their NEST colleagues climbed out with their backpacks and headed toward Human country. Mirage, honking cheerfully, zoomed passed while Hound pulled up to the console where Kim was waiting with the weekend Bridge staff.

“Hey,” Kim said.

“Good morning. Have you eaten?”

“I’ve had a power bar and tea. Have you been sent to manage me?”

“I’ve been sent to check on you.”

Kim nodded. She ran a finger along his hood. “Dusty. Do you want a wash?”

“I would love one. But I hear it makes you uncomfortable.”

“Nah. Just a carwash…more or less.”

The wash rack kept them occupied for most of an hour. Which was good; it delayed any serious conversation for a while. Finally, though, Kim had finished the dry phase and Hound refused nanite treatment and…they were going to have to do something else.

Hound suggested donuts. Kim hadn’t been aware there was a donut shop. It turned out to be with in a mile of the front gate, on a side street next to Camelot Apartments (Miko’s foster family lived there). They got in just before closing—because apparently in the wilds of Nevada Donut stores closed at nine (?) on Saturday. Kim didn’t complain. She respected fresh pastry.

Instead of returning to base, they turned west down the narrow street which, a hundred feet later, petered out into a vacant lot. There were a couple of piles of building materials ‘stored’ in the open, but beyond them there was unobstructed view of the desert. 

The ground was a mist of blue-green sprouts topped with fluffy yellow flowers. Kim blinked. Oh. The rain.

Hound pulled to a stop, rolled down his windows and opened a sunroof that Kim was pretty sure was not a feature of his Jeep model. It was a nice day, and on the passenger seat was a bag with two donuts and an iced tea. “Dang,” Kim said. “This is going to be one serious talk, isn’t it?”

“Prime told me he explained the Unicron Theorem to you.”

She shrugged. “More or less.” She took a donut out of the bag and broke a piece off. Chewing was an excuse not to talk.

It was a fantastic donut.

She chewed and swallowed and sipped the tea, and Hound didn’t say anything. He still hadn’t said anything when Kim finished the donut. She sighed. “The flowers are pretty. I forgot the desert did that.”

“Yes. Earth lifeforms are amazingly varied and specifically adapted.”

“And you really don’t care if it evolved on the dried up bones of your demon-god.”

A chuckle. “You have no idea what a long theological discussion that is. Did Primus and Unicron have physical bodies? Or were they energy creatures? A common assumption is that they were mecha, as we are. I doubt mecha could survive the creation of the universe. But then, my own ignorance is central to my understanding.”

“Death drives biological evolution, and decay is the basis of life on Earth, and I thought Ratchet was grossed out by us because he wasn’t used to it, but it turns out we’re not just damp and disgusting but ritually polluted—” Kim closed here eyes.

“Oh. Let me assure you, any associations with Chaos is an attraction in his view. He has not forgiven Primus our faults.”

“Oh.” Yes. Kim could easily imagine Ratchet’s fury at god.

“Ritually polluted…unclean…it isn’t a characteristic we have ever applied. To anything. If we did…the final resting place of Unicron would surely qualify. But I see no need to.”

“Yeah. But _you_ really like it here.”

“I do. But that ‘liking’ is not unreasoned. My own people, the children of Primus, created to His holy purpose…have been murdering one another for four thousand years. If there are a hundred thousand of us left, I will be surprised. And most of those still alive would happily rip my limbs off and crush my spark casing. On the other hand, tiny organic creatures living on the Pit itself are courageous and generous and accepting of my shocking ‘difference.’ If mercy and compassion can evolve on the Warren of Chaos, then blessed be the Warren of Chaos. If, indeed, this planet really is associated with the Unmaker. And the evidence for that is sketchy.”

“You make it sound so easy. So. Um. How good is the evidence?” Maybe, after all this, it wasn’t true.

“The energon, Kim. And the dark energon.” Dark eneregon. There was another name for that, Kim had heard it once. The Blood of Unicron.

Shaking, Kim opened the Jeep’s door and stepped out. For a couple of minutes, she thought she might throw up. When she was sure she wouldn’t she turned around and slumped against Hound’s side. “Well…so that’s that.”

“It isn’t. It isn’t _likely_ to be a coincidence. But other explanations cannot be ruled out.”

“That’s why the dark energon upset everyone so much.”

“No. That was because dark energon is very dangerous, and we fear the Decepticons have divined a way to make a weapon out of it.”

“Well. Hell.”

“Yes.”

Kim snorted “Or Pit.”

“Kim, if this discussion has made you feel uncomfortable or…unsafe with me, I can summon Mirage to give you a ride back to base. He has not settled into recharge. It would not be an imposition.”

Kim frowned, looking at the distance between them. She took a shaky breath. “I’m not. I don’t. I thought I might throw up. I’m not afraid of you. Or anything.”

“Oh.” His vocalizer reset. “I didn’t realize humans actually….did that.”

“What? Barf?”

“I thought it was a literary trope. Like blind dates. Or food fights.”

Kim opened her mouth to protest that those were real but realized that she had never actually met anyone who claimed to have done either.

“Kim. You should understand that the Prime’s reasons are different from mine. He has committed himself to protecting life and honoring sentience. And I don’t _think_ the Matrix has compelled him to this commitment. If I say it is a matter of conscience, will that make sense to you?”

“Yeah.”

“This is where he has found abundant life… and the sentience most like ours in the galaxy. Primus has abandoned us. So, he serves life.”

Kim nodded. Slowly, she climbed back into the driver’s seat and took a sip of tea.

“Do you have questions?”

“Not right now.”

“Very well. There is another matter. I’ve heard that Ratchet made fun of a linguistics error you made last night.”

“Oh, for pete’s sake! You know about that?”

“Not the details. Only that he recognizes that it is unbecoming to mock honest ignorance. He has never had much luck apologizing to humans, however. He asked me to have a word with you.”

“Oh. Geez. Everyone sends you to manage me?”

“If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s okay.”

“No.” Kim sighed. “No. Fine. Wait—when has Ratchet apologized to humans?”

“The fact that you are unaware of it supports his impression.”

“Huh.”

“This is all more complicated than it would be if you were a mech. You don’t know that you can complain to his superior and demand a formal apology.”

“I can complain to...Jazz?”

“The chief medical officer answers to the base commander. His supervisor is Prime.”

“So I complain and then…”

“Ratchet makes a formal apology to both of you.”

“Ew.” That didn’t sound great. “Wait. Why wouldn’t Ratchet tell me this himself.”

“It would be … inappropriate. It might be interpreted as a warning from him not to do it. Or a challenge to your ability to make decisions. If you see what I mean?”

Kim wasn’t sure she did. But that was a side issue. “Should I do it?”

“It would be fair.”

“Would it help with my relationship with Ratchet?”

Hound hesitated. “Well… He would respect it. He would not begrudge you your due.”

“But it wouldn’t help. I can’t afford to alienate Ratchet.”

“You should know you have the option. You don’t have to act on it.”

“Hm.” Kim thought for a minute. “Ratchet couldn’t tell me himself. Why couldn’t you and Ironhide explain the ‘fish hatchery’ topic at the party last month?”

“Ah. That wasn’t the same. It was.” His vocalizer reset. “To make a casual joke about recreational hardline interfacing—that sounds awful in English—is no big deal. To discuss it plainly and in detail in front of one another party implies that we are considering doing it together. Awkward.”

“Huh. And you have Mirage and he has Chromia.”

“Why—? Kim, mecha are not monogamous. I couldn’t even say that sentence Cybertronix. It would be awkward because Ironhide and I had not shown any indications of interest and haven’t…courted one another. Yes, that word is acceptable.”

Kim leaned against the headrest and closed her eyes. “I want to forget the whole thing.”

“I sympathize. We feel similarly about embarrassment.”

Kim realized that wallowing in shame would not fill up her field notes. “Did Bulkhead have to apologize to Drift? You weren’t here yet. After he got confused and accused me of threatening murder, Bulkhead made jokes and funny memes…?”

“I don’t know. Let me check.”

“No—don’t—”

“He didn’t. The situation is quite different. Bulkhead was not acting in a position of authority. And since it was an impressively dumb error, Drift would have looked churlish if he’d complained. This case is different. As Ratchet explained it to me, you did not make an error. You lacked information. Everyone knows you are gathering information as fast as you are able.”

Kim’s eyes pricked. She did not want to explain why she was crying to Hound. She dug around in her bag for the pad of paper. “Let’s do more of that. Gathering information. Is it rude for me to ask about you and Mirage?”

“No. Mecha gossip about that sort of thing.”

“What sort of thing? Like…how you met?”

“We met on assignment about…twelve hundred and six local years ago. Yes. The Praxis embargo. But our association wasn’t regular or intimate until about two hundred years ago. I was very flattered, of course, when Mirage first started paying more serious attention.”

“You aren’t monogamous; is there anyone else?”

“Not here on Earth. I’m not sure how detailed you wish to—We have to go back _now_.” The seatbelt snapped around her like a striking snake.

“What’s wrong?” She snatched up her tea to keep it from falling over as they lurched backward into a hard three-point turn.

“One of the sparklings has started to incorporate the inner lining of the pod. Ratchet is frantic.”

“But they’re supposed to do that.”

“Not for another four vorns! Or more.”

Kim had never driven at 120 before, not even when Optimus was trying to get to Cosmos’ crash site when the Bridge was down. It took just under five minutes to get to the assembly area. By then, One-B had disconnected the transponder that monitored the sparkling’s status.

Ratchet and Jazz were looking up at the two small, motionless pods. Kim quickly bounced out and Hound transformed and joined them. “Where is Prime?”

“Repair cycles,” Ratchet said curtly. “It doesn’t matter—he gave me all the files he had. None of them mention this!”

Their heads were tilted slightly, Kim realized, so they were scanning for EM, not with active sonor.

“Is…is the sparkling okay?” Kim asked.

“Well, we don’t know that,” Ratchet snarled, “because the slagging rug rat disconnected the slagging radio! Of all the stupid, irresponsible—”

“Hush,” Jazz said. “We don’t know if audio is functional yet.” He sighed. “We should wake Prime.”

“Oh, yes, another mech standing here panicking is going to be a huge help,” Ratchet hissed. His volume had dropped significantly. “Windblade is on her way back. She might have more information on isopods.”

Kim almost asked why, but remembered that First of Line were expected to transport inactive sparks to colony worlds. They might have better handbooks for portable gestation units.

“Oh, that’s uncomfortable,” Jazz drawled.

“What?” Kim asked. Was it embarrassing to ask for Windblade’s help or something?

Ratchet sighed. “One-B has _integrated_ the radio and started broadcasting with it. But it hasn’t found all the files for how to do that so it’s experimenting.”

Windblade came around the corner at a full-on run and stopped lightly beside Jazz. “Woah. You weren’t exaggerating.”

“Thank you,” Ratchet said. “That is very helpful. I can see we’ve called in an expert.”

“Why is it ignoring the little network you set up for it to play with?” she asked.

“I don’t know, do I?” Every antennae and nodule on his helm was pulled in. Kim hadn’t known some of them moved.

“Maybe we could use the network,” Hound suggested.

Jazz took two steps backward. His antenna was all pulled in, too.

Kim’s phone began to vibrate—not the brief nudge of a text, but an extended, hard shaking. She thumbed the screen. It stayed dark. Then apps began to open and shut. One after another. Oh, shit. “I think One-B is in my phone.”

The glyph app opened and a stream of glyphs—faster than Kim could parse—shot off.

“Yes, I would say you are correct,” Windblade said. She squatted down beside Kim and peered over her shoulder. “Well. Kim, you’re going to need a new phone. Even if it might be salvageable at this point, I’m going to trash it now.” The settings page opened, and apps began disappearing.

“Oh. Kay,” Kim said. “How is destroying this phone going to help?”

“I need to simplify the interface—”

“STUPID. STUPID. UGLY. ANSWER ME.” The words appeared in white block font across the blackened screen.

“There we go,” Windblade said brightly. “It looks like we’ve found the English packet.” She settled down on her knees and leaned closer. “Greetings to One-B” she said. Words formed and trailed across the screen at the same time. “The device One-B has contacted is stupid because it is an unsparked peripheral designed by a technologically primitive biological species.”

There was a very long pause. Kim realized she was holding her breath.

“GREETINGS.”

All the ‘Bots were now pressed close and looking over Kim’s shoulder.

“You’ve all _got_ radios!” Kim said, “Why are you all communicating to the baby with the phone?” To her horror, the words scrolled across the screen. Windblade had been using the microphone as an input rather than the wireless. It was so sensitive that the word ‘got’ was in bold.

“MECHA DON’T ANSWER. EVEN IF YOU SCREAM SCREAM SCREAM MECHA DON’T ANSWER. PRIMITIVE DEVICE ANSWERS.” 

Ratchet leaned forward. “The radio interface One-B is trying to establish would be damaging to mecha. If a connection was established, firewalls would engage. One-B would be damaged. The mecha are sorry.”

“ANGRY ANGRY BAD.”

Windblade spoke in rapid Cybertronix with no modifiers. The characters raced across the screen at a very high speed.

“NO.” And then the screen filled up with “NO”s.

The mecha frantically tipped back their heads to scan the pods.

“It’s just a temper tantrum,” Kim said hopefully. This was…familiar. Sort of. “When the kid calms down, we’ll try again. Right?” 

Immediately, the parade of “NO” stopped and the phone protested, “CALM NOW.”

Windblade said, “One-B, you have a development schedule. It is necessary for you to be developing protomatter now.”

“WHY?” After a second, a few extra question marks appeared.

Windblade appeared to be baffled by the question. After a moment, Kim answered, “So you can grow up to be a robust, strong mech.”

“WHY?”

Kim glanced frantically at the surrounding mecha. The more protomatter you had the better able you were to cope with Earth’s hazards, fight Decepticons, process repairs…but Kim wasn’t about to mention those horrors to a _baby_.

After a moment Hound put in, “Larger mecha have more choices in alt forms.”

“1B HAVE ALT?”

Kim smiled. “Yeah. Yes. Someday. When you’re out.”

“1B OUT?”

“One-B has a schedule,” Windblade said firmly—although it didn’t seem likely that tone of voice would be communicated, since none of the words got boldfaced or anything. “One-B is expected to emerge five orn from now—but depending on the course of development, it might be as many as eleven.”

There was a long silence.

“OUT OUT OUT.” The words were now appearing in different colors. “1B OUT NOW OUT.”

Windblade answered in Cybertronics; this time her sentences were peppered with request and humility modifiers. When she finished, Ratchet said in English, “Please. One-B should wait. One-B must wait. It is a short time. Please.”

“OUT. OUT.” There was a long pause. It stretched out. Kim was chewing the inside of her lip. The ‘Bots were surely frantically radioing one another trying to come up with a plan.

Could a sparkling decide to decant itself early? Human babies didn’t get a choice. Neither did a mother. Birth for humans just happened with the body decided. But mecha hatched when they incorporated so much of the support container that they fell out.

Kim’s voice came out of the phone. Well, Kim’s ‘voice.’ But not anything like a normal intonation. The words were flat and kind of buzzy. “_Want be out_.”

“One-B has found the speaker controls,” Windblade observed neutrally.

“_Want be out. I want to be out.”_ Kim’s heart sank. One-B was learning so quickly. Too quickly to control.

“Be reasonable!” Ratchet said. “It is better to wait. You aren’t finished.”

“I am reasonable. I wish to be out. Out is reasonable.”

_Oh, my god. _Kim was cold at the looming disaster. Would a sparkling die if it came out prematurely? Or just be horribly stunted?

“Out is not reasonable!” Ratchet shouted. “Out is dangerous! You’re not finished! Your protoform is too small!”

Windblade waved a hand at him.

Ratchet kept harping, but switched to Cybertronix. His sentences had a lot of number modifiers.

Windblade stood, reached up to wrap a servo around the top of Ratchet’s head, and shoved so hard that he ‘sat’ down with a clang on the floor. Ratchet muttered an apology and subsided. Windblade turned back to the phone. “One-B will explain why out is reasonable,” she said in English.

Kim was fairly sure she was stalling. Maybe it would work—the baby had never had a conversation before. But even if it did, could Windblade keep the sparkling talking for three weeks?

“I wish to know things. It is not possible to know more things while in. Out exists. The information I seek is out. I will enter out.”

“We will give you information!” Ratchet bounced back up, begging. “You will not need to come out.”

“I have integrated the available information in the library network.”

Jazz and Hound shared a look. Windblade folded her arms and turned away: thinking? Scanning?

“There is more,” Ratchet said. “Much more. What do you want to know?”

“Confirm: out real.”

“Yes. Out is real!” Ratchet said.

“Earth real?”

“Well—yes. Yes. You will see Earth later. When you are fully assembled and ready to emerge, you will see Earth. It is real.”

“Cybertron real?”

“Yes.” He did not promise the sparkling would see that. Kim swallowed thickly.

“Humans real?”

Ratchet’s torque engine came to life, was stifled. “Yes. Humans real. There is one here. I’ll—”

“I come out. Encounter human!”

Quickly, Windblade said, “The device you are using for communication has a camera. You can observe the human now.”

Kim looked down at the phone, smiled. Waved. What had Ratchet included in the little network he’d built for the sparkling to play in? What was it expecting?

“Where is human!” The only inflection was volume, but One-B was using a lot of that.

Hound held out a servo. Kim propped the phone in his palm and stepped back. She turned slowly, waved her arms. “Hello, One-B. I’m a human. I’ll wait to meet you. When you come out in a few orns. I’ll wait for you. I’ll be here.”

“Confusion. Anger.” The phone emitted a wail of static. “Out. Out. Out. Curious. Now.”

“It is a two dimensional camera, and not very good,” Ratchet said. “I have scans of humans. Excellent quality. I can upload them to the library. I am a physician. The scans are very high quality.” He straightened. “If you come out now, you cannot properly encounter the human. Last time I saw your telemetry, you had very rudimentary sensors. You have to build sensors before you come out.”

“Out. Now. Out.”

“Out later.” Ratchet said. “Connect to your library. The files are there now.”

There was a long silence.

Kim sat down on Windblade’s ped and buried her face in her hands.

There was more silence.

“Want out. Humans. Waiting bad.” A pause. More softly, “I have enough protomatter.”

The three mecha were exchanging looks; a radio conversation, surely. Ratchet said out loud, “I will upload plans for high density sensors. You could make them protoform parts, if that is how you wanted to build yourself. There are bandwidths you could optimize for biological life.” He was wheedling. It would be funny, if it weren’t so terrifying. “You could be better at scanning humans than any other mech on the planet.”

The answer from the phone was a long string of Cybertronix. Most of seemed to be Ratchet’s name. 

“We know it is hard to wait,” he said. “We’ll give you more energon. And another batch of components.”

“But you must wait five more orns,” Windblade said. “At least. You must finish developing.”

“I want my own scanners.”

“Of course you do. But you must build them. Do we have a deal?” The crest on her helm was erect now. Kim supposed the sparkling had stopped screaming.

“Want to talk to the human.”

All four of the mecha vibrated with a soft protoform groan. Windblade waved a hand at Kim.

“Hi, One-B. I’m a human.”

“Humans real.”

Kim smiled in the direction of the phone. “Humans real.”

“Humans…impossible.”

What did that even mean. “I’m sure you’ll understand all about humans when you can scan me yourself. Um. No X Rays.”

“Why?” And then, “Oh.”

Kim glanced at Ratchet. She said, “You’re going to be really busy. You have a lot to build. But when you’re done, you can scan me.”

Ratchet kept the phone in case the sparkling wanted another conversation. He turned off the mic, though. The five of them stood there for several long minutes and then, in silent, mutual agreement, crept softly around the corner into the infirmary.

“I take it that ain’t normal,” Jazz said, sitting heavily on a table.

“According to the troubleshooting guide,” Windblade said, “no. Hound. What do you have?”

“Nothing. I never worked in a creche, but I did compile and file reports. To integrate the transponder instead of just disassembling it for parts, that’s very sophisticated. Precocious.”

“Precocious!” Ratchet snorted. “Sophisticated! More like suicidal. Twenty-two kilograms of protomass! That wouldn’t even support a juvinal mincon!”

“Mechin are small,” Kim began, remembering too late that she knew even less than they did about babies.

Jazz answered her politely, though: “That’s a luxury we haven’t been able to afford since the war started. The resources—” he stopped. “On the other hand, small size is less of a disadvantage on Earth.”

Windblade’s vocalizer reset twice. She turned to Ratchet. “You promised more fuel and components.”

“Tonight. Let me think about what would be the most useful. And another transponder, if there is still a chip to attach it to.”

Windblade’s protoform ‘sighed.’ It sounded a little like a cat purring. “What about One-A? Any problems?”

“Oh, _that_ one’s perfect. Twenty-six kilos of undifferentiated protomatterwith a steady growth curve. No sign of specialization yet. Picture of health.” His servos tapped a table and Hound passed him Kim’s phone. “All right. Congratulations, everyone, on avoiding catastrophe. Now go away. I have work to do. Kim, I’ll have a new phone for you tomorrow.”


	4. Calculation

The afternoon was much less dramatic. (Traumatic might be a better word, actually, for begging a puddle of protomatter not to disassemble its portable womb). Fixit and Maggie both had off, and they were working on the new kitchen. Helping them paint was marvelously relaxing. (It was kind of strange; Kim had always heard painting was a huge pain. Well, maybe it would be, if she’d already had a kitchen, with floors and fixtures to work around.)

June and Jack stopped by on a tour of the base. “So, wait. You live here?” he asked.

Kim shrugged, dipping her paint roller into the pan. “Home sweet home.”

Jack looked around, frowning. “But. This is. An old bond villain base?”

Fixit, painting under the sink (because Fixit) popped out. “Query,” he began.

Kim waved him off. “No, it’s okay. The search you want is James Bond. Heh. And you’ve got the right era, anyway. Cold War office space.”

Jack glanced at his mom. “I really shouldn’t be surprised by anything after the giant aliens. Hey. When you slept over because your place was being fumigated….”

_Oh, dear_. Probably now wasn’t the time to mention Dark Energon. “Chemical exposure. We weren’t sure how bad it was. They had it cleaned up the next day.” She took painting as a great excuse not to make eye contact. Talking about the Blood of Unicron was more than she could manage just then.

“Jasper,” Jack said. “That’s the thing. All this in Jasper.”

June had relaxed enough to look a little smug. “And you said I never got posted anywhere interesting.”

Kim snuck a look. Jack had turned toward the door and was looking out—a straight shot to the balcony. “This is…still surprising.” He took a deep breath. “So, do you need help or something?”

“Do you have experience in domestic interior decorating?” Fixit asked.

“Oh, yes,” Maggie drawled. “Jack is on a base with living mecha and he wants to paint! Not today. June, has he seen the Ground Bridge yet?”

“No, we haven’t been that way down the hall.”

“We’ve got some samples coming in from China in about half an hour. Drift, I think.“ She wiggled a painty hand. “I can’t check the schedule. But somebody’s coming in.”

Ground Bridge. Oooo. Kim would have liked to see his face when he saw teleportation. Or whatever the Bridge was. She’d been so nervous about…so many things her first time. She hadn’t really had a moment to just absorb the wonder of it.

Of course, the first time she’d seen it, she’d been traveling on it, and had been trying really hard to be cool about that. “You should see it. It’s cool.”

Jack and June moved on. Kim and Maggie reminisced about their first alien encounters. They asked Fixit about the first time he met humans, but he said he was reprocessing that and asked questions about what they thought aliens would be when they didn’t believe they existed.

Kim was almost sorry to go when it was time for her evening interview. But today, of course, they would not be working. She found Optimus in alt, parked in the shade of an equipment shed. She wondered if he was already in recharge—his engines were silent and there was no _whrr_ of adjusting sensors--but he rocked slightly on his tires as she approached. Kim reached up and ran the tips of her fingers over his grill. “Hey,” she said softly.

“I heard you were involved in the unexpected excitement this morning. Windblade has recommended everyone involved for commendations. Including yourself. Thank you for not panicking.”

“Heh. I know it was generous of them to let me stay and see all that….”

“Kim, if you had not alerted them that One-B was in your phone…you do realize your phone can access the base network. One-B _might_ not have found the WiFi card, but….”

“Oh. Shit.” 

“Yes. We will have to install monitoring apps in all technology within range of the gestation pods.” He paused. “Your observations might be useful.”

Kim turned to lean her shoulder against his grill. She couldn’t feel any air moving; his fans were off. “Windblade was right. They handled it very well. Frankly, I’ve never seen mecha so freaked out.”

“Indeed.”

“Has anyone figured out what went wrong?”

“I am not certain anything did go wrong,” he said.

“Even I know that isn’t how it is supposed to go.”

“It isn’t how it usually goes. And it was very dangerous. If One-B had decanted or managed to breach someone’s firewalls or—Primus save us—find your internet too soon it would have been disastrous. But Kim, imagine a soul so hungry for knowledge, so curious, so brave, so little preoccupied with self-centered survival that it incorporates every processor in its incubator, stops building protomatter in order to make more processing power, and then opens every file, including the ones that were set to flag themselves just a few hours before pod containment failed.”

Kim thought about that. “If it has commandeered all the processers, the pod is pretty much a metal bag now.”

“Yes, Ratchet is concerned. One-B and I have communicated briefly over the contained network. We cannot risk handing the sparkling any more radio hardware. Kim. You should prepare yourself. If One-B decants too early….” He trailed off. His fans came on hard, then stopped again.

Kim patted the grill. “I get it. The baby may die.”

“No! Of course not.” A shiver passed through his frame. “No. There is no reason the spark would be compromised. We would…simply have to strip away the defective construction and try again. Perhaps with a different model of incubator.”

“Oh. Right.” Kim felt stupid. This wasn’t a human pregnancy.

“It would be terrible. We will do all we can to spare One-B this trauma.”

“Right. Yeah.” She tilted her head back. The sun was hovering at the horizon. The sky was cloudless, so there wasn’t much sunset. “Optimus. My default…would be to ask you a general question now, but you don’t really like those…”

“Ask your specific question,” he said.

“Are you in pain?” she whispered.

“No.”

Kim nodded, leaned a little harder against him.

“I am not sure how it would translate,” he said slowly. “Our word means ‘inadequate to the task,’ but English doesn’t carry the flavor.”

“Tired?” Kim suggested.

“Weak.” The soft word was tiny in the open desert air. “Primary power is offline. I depleted my capacitors at a meeting this afternoon. Secondary power systems are not robust enough to recharge them. I have shut down a number of subroutines.”

“Okay,” Kim whispered back. “I know what I can do. Let’s get started.” She took a step to walk around him to the door. A soft protoform purr stopped her.

“Kim. I have answered your questions. It is fair for you to answer mine. Are you well?”

Sensitively vague question, there. Kim took a deep breath. “Broadly speaking. Yeah. I’m great.” She patted his chassis. “Today was…it had its moments. But tomorrow is another day. Heh. All good.”

“Kim. Last night—”

“No,” she said gently, resuming her journey around to the driver’s side door.

“Kim. I answered your questions. I was honest with you.”

She felt a momentary stab of guilt before remembering: “Yeah? So was I. I’m fine, and that really is all you need to know right now.” The door release didn’t click. Kim mounted the step and leaned against him. “We can’t have a complicated conversation about this when you aren’t running on all pistons. That would be so unfair. And we don’t need a complicated conversation anyway. I do love you. It’s not…news. And it’s not a problem for the job.” Still no answer, no sound at all. “Nobody is compromised. Nobody is taken advantage of. And if you want me to go, I’ll pretend we quarreled about—the new linguist or my broken phone and nobody needs to know that you’re up here sleeping instead of stewing about what an asshat your ethnographer is—”

The door clicked open.

Kim climbed in, shut the door gently, clicked into the seatbelt even though they wouldn’t be going anywhere.

“Thank you,” he said. “This is generous.”

“It’s the most useful I can be. If I have the computer on, will it disturb you?”

“It would be a bit more comfortable without it.”

Kim reached into her bag and toggled the power all the way off. She had her pad and paper. It would be too dark to see in about half an hour, but that was fine. When did she ever have the time to just sit and think about things?

“The protocol I wish to run is two hours and seventeen minutes. That is a little longer than our usual interview.”

“It’s fine. It’s great. Anything else I need to know.”

A pause. “No."

***

She wrote steadily, documenting the horror of the morning until it was too dark to see. Sadly, the days were getting shorter and that was less than an hour. When Kim had to put away her pen and pad there was nothing to occupy her in the dark cab.

Well. Nothing she wanted to be occupied with. She didn’t want to think about how it felt when—

She’d been fine ignoring it.

It hadn’t _mattered_ that—

That they trusted one another was a tremendous achievement. She wasn’t just collecting data about mecha. She was seeing how humans and mecha related, and the fact that they could be _friends_, that there was trust, that they could enjoy one another’s company—

Well, it was a huge indication of what kind of collective future the two species might have. It wasn’t certain, after all, that they did have a future together. As life-forms went, they were pretty different despite all the weird analogs. So, it wasn’t a problem that she was always glad to see him, that he lifted her into overlapping when—

When mech friends were this close, there was interfacing. She couldn’t give him that, even if the actual content of her memories was compatible with his processor. That was never going to happen.

On the plus-side, Kim had been kind of sad since she’d noticed during her first year in grad school that the divorce rate for anthropologists was enormously high. Disappearing for a year or more of fieldwork regularly had that effect on marriage.... Well. This is what she got instead of a normal life.

This was so much better than a normal life. So much better than she’d imagined.

For her.

But, of course, the risk of the world being slagged to glass and stripped of energon by Megatron made long term plans sort of moot anyway. Supposing they did win the war—

If they all survived, she’d die in about 50 years, and that was really a fucked up thing to do to her best friend. Leave him after a human lifetime of trusting her. 

Really, her day had been much better when she had been able to keep from thinking.

Optimus roused after two hours and seventeen minutes exactly. All the dashboard lights rippled on before dimming. Kim reached for her phone, remembered she didn’t have one, and said, “Status ping.”

“The repair cycle was accomplished without complication.”

“That’s good. Do you…need any more time? Tonight?”

“I have a conference call in twenty-three minutes.” A sigh. “Thank you, though.”

“Maybe you could….maybe, just take some time off. I mean officially, take a few days. Rest. Clean up your drives. Have some fun. You’ve been pushing, well, I’m sure since before I got here.”

“I take time off.”

“Seriously,” Kim snorted, “When was the last time you took any time off?”

“Last month we went to Mount Irish.”

“True. Lovely day off, what with the mud and sleet.”

He made an irritated sound. “Our survey on I95.”

“That was work. You were looking for Decepticons and energon.”

“It was enjoyable. I though you agreed.” 

Kim laid a hand against the dash. “It was wonderful. Until the Nemesis arrived and collapsed the Bridge and damaged your sensors and we spent the rest of the orn racing around the country at high speeds while you were in pain. The only rest you get is for maintenance. That is how you run a machine, not how you treat a person.” 

“We are at war.” 

“NEST guys get leave. They go home. They rest.” 

“My home has been destroyed. I will not allow that to happen to yours.” 

Kim closed her eyes. “Shit. Okay. Backing off. I won’t fight with you.” Kim swallowed. Her hands were suddenly sweaty. She ran her hands along her hips. “Sorry.”

“I…appreciate your sentiment.”

“Tomorrow, though? I an come back. We can do this again.”

“That, yes. I accept.”

***

Kim had no phone. She had to set an alarm on her watch to get up the next morning, and had no way to check the calendar for appointments.

Lacking anything else to do, she headed down to the infirmary. Pierre and Carly were in despite it being Sunday, working over a mech on the active pallet.

“Hey,” Kim called.

“Do _not_ tell Miko I have rocks in my suspension!” It was Wheeljack on the pallet. “I have never seen such a crappy road system.”

“Well it was Siberia,” Carly said pointedly. “And it isn’t big rocks. And the gravel is easier to get out than the mud and bits of plants. I don’t even think raising the suspension on your alt would help. I think you must have transformed in a swamp.”

Wheeljack didn’t answer.

Ratchet was bent over worktable. He waved Kim over absently. His servos had a dozen tiny extensions that were somehow unsettling to look at. “Come on up,” he said. “Your phone is nearly finished.”

“Oh, good. I am very grateful,” Kim said, mounting the ladder built into the side.

“I’m increasing the security. Not that it would keep a mech out. Even a sparkling.” He sighed.

“How is the pouch denizen doing today?”

“Pouch denizen.” Ratchet clicked. “Accurate. And apparently compliant. Mass is up by three hundred grams.”

“Wow—” Kim began, confused and shocked. Then the metric system fell into place—grams, not kilograms. “That’s…pretty good.”

“Entirely acceptable, if it continues. I don’t know what to make of this sparkling. Not that I have a wealth of personal experience to draw on. Or that the manuals we have are any good. I wonder if there was some nursery data the creche workers passed person to person? Last night I started reading human literature on…reproduction. That was unsettling. Frankly horrifying.”

“I can’t imagine the human perspective is helpful at all.”

Ratchet scoffed. “The ‘human perspective’ appears to exist in a constant state of generational panic. Of course, your panic is entirely proportional. Anomalies and disasters are the norm, not the exception. And I can’t even contemplate having an organism _inside_ me, attached to my power and waste clearance. Growing. Eventually developing a processor capable of sentience. Egh.”

“It freaks us out, too,” Kim said sympathetically. “I...had a near miss once. There had been ...sperm exposure. I was late.” She glanced at Ratchet, then away. “I didn’t want to go to the drug store near campus, and I didn’t have a car, so...When I finally got it--you have to do it first thing in the morning, and that night my period came back. So.”

“So you were not impregnated; it was a system feedback error.” Ratchet nodded sagely.

“Or not. That’s what I assumed at the time, and it was a huge relief. I was not in any way equipped to become a parent. But I know that there is an awful lot of failure in the first weeks. For humans, I mean. And sometimes I wonder.”

Ratchet looked at her for a moment. His alterations on the new phone didn’t pause, but Kim knew one of those instruments was a tiny camera. He said softly, “Do not have this conversation with Optimus.”

“Oh, no,” Kim agreed. “It’s completely different for you guys. And Optimus has….” _Issues_ didn’t cover it. And maybe it would be better not to talk about that just now anyway.

“Optimus is traumatized by our species’ slow, ugly dance with extinction,” Ratchet said bluntly. “But if he initiates the conversation ...well, the problem is too global to redact. And ongoing. And he certainly can’t talk to _us_ about it.”

Kim gave a tiny nod. “‘Kay,” she whispered. If Optimus needed to talk, his options were limited. “Yeah. Um. How is he?” She gestured vaguely.

“Progressing on schedule.” He paused. “If he could have three hours and six minutes tonight, that would be immensely helpful.”

“Sure. Of course.”

Ratchet suddenly folded away the tiny tools into one of his fingers and angled fully towards her. “Kim, if you have refrained from making a complaint to Optimus because of his health--”

“No! Uh. No. I mean, that’s not why,” she protested in a frantic whisper.

“Nobody much bothers complaining about me anymore. And I mostly ignore it anyway, because I will not apologize for pointing out intolerable stupidity. However. To mock you for ignorance when you have put forth every effort to remedy it--I’m frankly embarrassed.”

Kim glanced frantically at the active pallet, but Carly and Pierre were still half-buried in WheelJack’s chassis.

“Great!” Kim hissed. “We’re both embarrassed. Let’s pretend it never happened. Win-win!”

“Why are _you_ embarrassed?” Ratchet asked in puzzlement.

Right. Because as far as Ratchet was concerned, Kim was upset because she said accidently said the wrong thing, when, in fact, what Kim was upset about was accidently saying the true thing. She lifted her hands helplessly. She could see Fowler coming down the tunnel in a golf cart. “Let’s try this. I need your help for the research. I can’t afford to be mad at you, and certainly not for something trivial that happened while you were distracted. I’m not making a report.”

Ratchet sighed. “Wheeljack’s T-cog needs a reset, so, sadly, I don’t have time to explain the three different ways that statement could be interpreted as an insult.” He handed her the phone. “Check your messages. Six people are looking for you.”

Three of the six were emails from Blaster, Steeljaw, and Eject, who were apparently trying to figure out how email worked. Bill Fowler wanted a meeting—on a Sunday, but that probably wasn’t a bad sign, he was a workaholic. Hound was checking to see if she was all right. Fixit had a dozen pictures of bathroom fixtures.

It was wonderful to have her phone back, to be back in the thick of things again.

Kim kept busy, scheduling interview time with all the mecha who were available. She tried to set up a lunch meeting with Fowler in the DFAC (she assumed he just wanted an update on the gestation pods) but he directed her to his office.

It wasn’t great news. There had been a turnover in the leadership in some Senate subcommittee, and the new chair had questions about the giant aliens the military was hiding in Nevada. He wanted that meeting on Monday afternoon.

“Tomorrow? That Monday?”

He sighed. “Yeah. That Monday.”

“Can we…do that? Can I just…Washington?”

“Yeah. Sorry.” He shrugged. “I offered. He doesn’t trust law enforcement. Anarchist in the 70s.”

“So, I’m just gonna--? Is this a Ground Bridge trip?”

“Yes. So, it could be worse. Drift can squeeze you into his schedule.”

Drift. Great.

“Your Bridge transit is at 2:15 tomorrow.”

“Great,” Kim said brightly. “What do I do when I get there.”

Fowler shrugged. “Explain the giant mechanical aliens to the guy who has to approve our budget. So…. make it good.”

“Blah.” What would she wear? Her funeral suit? And what was she supposed to say?

***

Optimus was in alt again when Kim came onto the mesa. He was parked mostly in the shade and silent, but a little row of lights blinked as she approached. “How are you feeling?” Kim asked softly.

“Better,” he answered easily, “but I’m cheating. I’m tapped into the solar farm output.”

Kim grinned. “Good for you.” Plain electricity was a short-term solution, but he was clearly more comfortable, so it was good enough. She leaned against his front tire, noticed that his wheel well wasn’t very clean. Washing was contraindicated. She dismissed that worried thought as unhelpful. “Hey. I’m being sent to Washington tomorrow. I have to meet with some senate guy. Is that okay with you?”

“It is necessary. I am informed his response to the initial briefing was horror and irritation. His fear is understandable but dangerous. I am hoping you—small, female, civilian—can convince him we are not predators. It is your own certainty and confidence that will communicate this. Words are insufficient.”

“Hmp.” Kim chewed her lower lip for a moment. “Okay. I can be cool about what big teddy bears you all are.” Optimus clicked a surprised chuckle at that. Kim continued, “But what do I say? What do I tell him?”

“Answer his questions. Be truthful. Avoid topics we prefer humans not dwell on.”

“Okay, yeah.”

“I will be meeting with him on Tuesday. It would be helpful if he is reassured about my safety protocols.”

“Got it. You gonna be okay to travel that soon?”

“As I have explained at length to Ratchet, I will be going to a hanger in Maryland, not into combat. I will be fine.”

“Understood.” She leaned harder against him, even though she knew he didn’t register her presence as pressure and softness but as patterns of heat and electromagnetics. This wasn’t even the best position for scanning, but it took a long moment before she could rouse herself to move. The ache she had been ignoring all day was welling up now. Was it longing? Or guilt?

Shit. Such a mistake to stop moving. But he needed this. Her stillness was an opportunity for Optimus to repair himself without explaining weakness to NEST. Kim straightened and stretched. “So,” she said briskly. “Let’s get to it.”

The door clicked open and Kim clambered up.

“I plan to run a ninety-minute repair cycle, if that is acceptable to you.”

Kim frowned. “Ratchet said three hours. What changed?”

A pause. “It is unnecessary.”

“You have a meeting Ratchet doesn’t know about?”

“No.” An awkward pause he never would have allowed if he had been running all the interaction subroutines. Kim winced at the lameness. “It is simply not necessary.”

“That’s too bad. I haven’t been sleeping well. I thought I might take a nap myself. Three hours would be about right.”

“You are attempting to manipulate me.”

“Yes. I thought that would be a nice change from Ratchet yelling at you. But I can do yelling if prefer consistency.”

“Kim…..”

“It’s okay. Honest. I promise.”

“Thank you.”

“Go ahead. It’s okay.”

She emptied the canvas bag and crumpled it up into a tiny pillow so she could rest against the window. She didn’t think she’d sleep, but she desperately wanted to. She wouldn’t think while she was sleeping. 

She did manage to sleep. Unfortunately, she also dreamed.

It started out entirely familiar: trying to put together a simple sentence in audible Cybertronix and failing because glyph icons kept switching out for sound characters.

She knew the characters she needed. She could use the keyboard. But everything moved around and was wrong and the fear was rising.

It was just characters. She was just trying to put words together. But fear sprouted into emptiness—a vast void of hopeless, meaningless—

_ It is distressed.  _

And that was odd, because this was a dream and it always ended in terror and loss and not in a crowd of people gathered around her, squeezed into Optimus’s cab like clowns into VW.

There was no way they could all fit in that tiny space, certainly not such huge people nudging one another and whispering. And pointing at Kim. And staring.

And maybe this was just a new dream. Or a new nightmare, because nobody likes to be stared at by a crowd of people who mutter. But _new_ in a nightmare wasn’t all bad.

Or maybe it wasn’t a dream and she was sitting up in Optimus’ cab on the mesa with a crowd of….

Who?

_ It is small and fragile. Be careful with it.  _

_ Is it sentient? _

_That is to be determined_.

I disagree. 

She couldn’t quite see their faces. It was dark, though. Kim reached out.

_ How aware is it of us?  _

Kim snatched her hand back.

_ Interesting.  _

_ What is it doing? Is it signaling some content? _

_ Not deliberately, I think. It does not understand.  _

Was this scary? Were they dangerous? It was almost frustrating, not to be sure if it was a nightmare or not.

_ It wasn’t doing **that** before.  _

_ Can we examine it more closely?  _

The crowd blurred and flowed like water. Kim was vaguely surprised that it wasn’t scary. But it definitely wasn’t.

It seemed like it would be.

But it wasn’t.

That was distracting, and the thought circled around and around. How surprising, that she wasn’t afraid….

Optimus roused with the little _clicks_ and _whrrs_ and _shhhs_ of a systems check.

Kim sat up and rubbed her face. She didn’t feel particularly rested, but she also wasn’t haunted by the vague, saturating horror that usually accompanied waking up. She cleared her throat. “How did it go?”

“The maintenance proceeded as intended.”

“You okay? Right. Sorry. Too vague.”

“You are asking for a generalized status report,” he said. “I understood. I will be recovered quite soon, Kim. Please don’t worry.”

“No, I won’t worry.”

“And yourself? Did you…accomplish adequate sleep?”

“Not bad. I dreamed about a great crowd of people.”

“Not Cybertronix?”

“Not really. I think.” Kim sighed, reached out to run her fingers along the hula dancer base. “What’s next for you tonight?”

“I am behind in my electronic communications. However. I will shut down again at two this morning.” A pause. “The repair itself is quite minor. It is only the position of the damage that is inconvenient. I promise you, I am in no danger.”

“Okay,” she said.

“How are the renovations to the human enclave coming?”

“Fast. Well, punctuated. Materials arrive and there is a burst of activity and something is completely changed. Like, on Fixit’s lunch hour.” Fixit didn’t eat lunch, of course, and mecha tended to work more total hours than humans, but still, they got breaks. “I know plumbing and cooking is all….alien to him. But I think he could write a book on renovation now. Damn. It is such a shame we haven’t come out to the world yet. He’d be a fabulous guest on a home repair show.”

Optimus chuckled.

“All right. I’ll let you get to work. Wish me luck tomorrow.”

“Always, my friend.”

~tbc


	5. Solve for X

She had to shoo Fixit out of the bathroom briefly so she could quickly wash and…eliminate. It was hard to think about doing _that_ with a curious ‘Bot right outside. 

“I will replace and reposition the toilets today. You are scheduled to return at six-thirty tonight. It should be finished by then. I’m sorry. The fixtures will not be usable until then.”

Kim waved a hand. “It’s fine. I can clear out for the day.” Fixit’s first experiment in plumbing had been in a corner of the infirmary, where he had installed a tiny hazmat shower and…commode was probably the best term. It was functional and efficient, but weird. The tank for the toilet was inside the wall. The toilet itself was weirdly small, but had a bidet. The hand washing facility was _inside_ the shower pod. The whole unit was encased in a bubble of spun fiberglass and reflected the aesthetic of a species that had clearly never pooed or peed or washed their hands to eat.

But weird or not, there was a place to eliminate in the infirmary now, so staying out of the facilities in the Cold War hallway wasn’t inconvenient.

Kim spent most of the day reading up on Senator Briggs. The Senate didn’t directly set the budget…exactly. The House apparently had the final word on that. But military spending had a lot of scrutiny, apparently some of from a Senate committee overseeing military construction.

Very broad term, construction. Kim wondered exactly what it covered.

Apparently, the last chairman of that committee had died two weeks ago in an actually-not-suspicious ‘hiking’ accident in front of dozens of witnesses (the accident had been at a photo op in a state park as part of an upcoming gubernatorial run, where a rock shelf had given way beneath him—possibly from all the extra weight and vibration from all the cars he had brought with him).

Wallace Briggs, fairly junior, had not expected a chairmanship so soon or so suddenly, and was now being brought up to speed.

His profession before politics had been doctor. He was short, elderly, balding, and looked a little like a frog with big ears. There wasn’t much video of him Kim could find. Probably the main reason was that he wasn’t particularly important. But some of the reason, surely, was that he had an irritating voice.

My god, what a dreadful way to spend an afternoon.

And then there was Drift. Who was—as always—perfectly polite.

He was currently a sleek Mustang—it was sports car, and a little small. He had to be subspacing a lot of mass. The interior had to be custom. No real car needed so may lights and gauges. The seats felt like soft, buttery leather (and what materials was he using to fake that?) and the seatbelts were completely and openly automated (which most ‘Bots didn’t show because humans felt more comfortable if they had the illusion of control over the restraints.)

Kim had always heard that traffic in Washington was awful and everybody avoided the roads and took the subway, but Drift, of course, was always where the traffic was lightest, zipping from lane to lane, scooting around slower or more timid cars.

Kim was not allowed to take her phone into the senator’s office. She wasn’t worried about it: Ratchet had installed the security. She left her bag in a drawer in an outer office and entered—

A small, normal looking office with an ancient, unkempt desk and two chairs in the corner. The senator—looking less frog-like in person because pictures really did not do justice to the enormity of his ears—came out from behind it and ushered her to the guest chairs where he joined her.

“So,” he said cheerfully. “Dr. Montgomery. An anthropologist. I guess D.C. is a long way from the jungles of Africa!” He beamed.

Kim did not cringe. She didn’t even wince or roll her eyes. “Actually, I specialize in immigration. My last research project was in Boston.” She attempted a pleasant smile.

“Oh! Good old Bean Town! You know I had my anniversary there. They had a fantastic duck tour. Have you been?”

Bean Town. Geez. Kim didn’t wince again. “You know, I missed the duck tour. I’ll have to do that next time I get back.” _I’m never going back._ “Nevada is completely different.”

“Oh, yes. Nevada. Are we finished with the small talk? Sometimes politicians seem to want hours of it.”

Kim did smile then. “No, I think we’re good.”

He made a long arm and scooped a thin file off his desk. “So,” he said. “Giant aliens.”

“Yeah,” Kim said.

He leaned forward. “Are some of them really twenty feet tall?”

Oh, god. “Some are taller. I’ve seen twenty-eight feet.”

He nodded. Perhaps this was a test? “Have you touched any of them?”

“Well….yes. I mean, when they’re in alt, you have to touch them to get in. And I’ve helped out with first aid once or twice. And I’ve—”

“What do they _feel_ like?”

“Like metal…” Kim said, trying to puzzle out what he was getting at. He was still looking expectant-- an enthusiastic, large-eared frog. “They are usually warmer or cooler than you expect them to be. Like. They aren’t ambient.”

“Is it true they are machines?”

_Oh, here we go._ “Everybody’s machines. Humans are machines made of protein and neurotransmitters. They are made of iron and carbon and silicon. We all do our thinking with electricity.”

He tilted his head. “Surely, that’s a cop-out. They are clearly nothing like us.” He opened the thin file and held up a photo of Bee mid-transformation.

“Wait till you see that in person. It’s totally cool,” Kim said.

“Cool? That’s what you have to say about it? Giant aliens that turn into cars is cool?”

“Of course they’re cool. And,” Kim said. “It could be a lot worse. They could be meaner. They could be larger. They could be harder to disguise in plain sight.”

“It wasn’t supposed to happen at all!” He jumped up, looked around, realized there wasn’t room to pace angrily, and sat back down. “There aren’t supposed to be aliens! Everyone knows there isn’t enough phosphorus in the universe for aliens to be an issue! And yet here we are!”

_Everyone_ didn’t know about the phosphorus. It wasn’t the sort of thing she’d expect a junior varsity politician to know. She would have to be careful. “They don’t need phosphorus.”

He growled. “I’d curse, but I’ve gotten out of the habit. Not the sort of thing you can risk happening at a town hall.” He heaved a sigh. “So. You live on base with them.”

“Yes, I--”

“How do they treat you?”

“Professionally. Like a colleague.”

“So, they aren’t friends?”

“Some of them are friends. It’s like any workplace. Some people get to be friends and other are just coworkers and…some are kind of a pain in the butt.”

“Can you share an example about the ‘pain in the butt’ part?” he seemed both amused and horrified. Kim tried not to smile. None of this was funny.

“The Autobot physician used to just pick humans up without permission. He’s mostly gotten over that.”

“They pick you up? With their—do they even have hands?”

“They’re very tall. It is hard to hold a conversation at ankle level. And impossible to keep up if—you know—you try to walk and talk at the same times. Sometimes we get picked up.”

“They walk around with--? How often do humans get squished?”

“Oh. Oops. Never. There is never any squishing.”

“Oh, come on.” He brandished a picture of Optimus. “Somebody has to have gotten stepped on.”

Kim shook her head. “They monitor humans in close proximity with two kinds of sensor. They always know where we are. No one has been stepped on.”

“Ever?”

“It’s the kind of thing that would get talked about,” Kim said.

“Hmm. I imagine it would be. What about the probing?”

“The…what?”

“Probing. They’re aliens. What kind of probing do they do?”

“Um, none. That would be impolite. And. Anyway. They have really good sensors. Non invasive. Sonar. Electromagnetics. There isn’t any probing.”

“Are you sure? What if they do it at night, when you’re asleep? How would you know?

Kim sighed patiently. “There is no probing. The worst they’re likely to do at night is wake you up and talk about existential angst.”

He nodded, making a note on the file. “How likely are they to do that, exactly?”

“Uh. Not very. I mean, Only once in the last four months. We…had a talk about not waking people up.”

“I see, I see. Did it work.”

“Well, it’s only been a could of days.”

“Hmmm. Tell me about Decepticons? Have you ever seen one?”

Kim didn’t have time to lament the lack of a transition there. “Uh. In person? Only from a distance. I’ve seen recordings. But you probably want to talk to Captain Lennox about that. He’s fought them more than once. Some of it…close quarters.”

“Damn. I mean, rats. This is…not what I expected from a committee on military construction.”

Kim winced internally. Way to throw poor Will under the bus. But what could she do? Her job was to be reassuring: talking about Decepticons would not accomplish that. “If you don’t want to be picked up, they won’t.

He _hmmmed_ softy. “I’ve been assured they don’t eat flesh. Of any kind?”

Kim’s jaw dropped. Hastily, she covered. “Nope. Um. No, they sort of eat a...sort of mineral. It’s rare, but there is enough of it on Earth.”

“What do we use it for? Is it radioactive?”

“We don’t use it for anything. It isn’t very interesting to us. It isn’t radioactive.”

“But if it’s an energy source…? Wouldn’t it be useful?”

“It is not compatible with our technology.“ 

“Well, can we get it compatible with our technology? I mean, an energy source we’ve overlooked….”

“I don’t know. I’m not a physicist. You might ask to see an energon retrieval site. They let people do that. You can see for yourself.” Because if anybody needed to forget about energon, it was this weirdly intelligent, frog-faced, legislator. Hell yes.

“What about drinking? Do they do that? They’re not here for the water, are they?”

Kim sighed. “They only use water for washing. And they’d use more solvents than water if they weren’t toxic to their human coworkers. The solvents, I mean.”

***

The meeting went long. They ordered dinner in, since this sort of conversation couldn’t be continued in a restaurant. Disappointingly, the senator liked Burger King. It was after 7:30 local time before he was satisfied and a staffer guided Kim out to an exit where Drift was waiting.

“Did it go well?” he asked.

“Well. He didn’t actually seem less freaked out when I left. But he had less to be freaked out about.” She leaned back into his very nice seats and sighed.

“A strong emotional response seems usual for humans when they are first told. Most of them settle down.”

“Let’s hope.” Kim dug out her phone and pulled up the calendar. She was pretty late. And Optimus was listed as ‘off-duty/recharge.’ _Damn_. She’d missed it. She let out a harsh breath.

“Are you in need of food?”

“No, I’m good. We can head home.”

He dropped her off at the base of the balcony stairs. Tiredly, Kim ran a hand through her hair and rolled her shoulders and thought about going to bed early. Or getting a movie. She took out her phone and texted Ratchet: HOW IS HE?

The response was immediate: bots didn’t waste time tapping on a keyboard: POWER SYSTEM AT 88%. REPAIR CYCLE RUNNING UNTIL 2300.

Kim spent the evening clearing out the conference room and getting it ready to paint.

***

She didn’t see Optimus at all on Tuesday. His power system repair was at ninety-three percent and Ratchet has cleared him for regular duty. Every meeting he had delayed was still waiting, and he had to go to Washington for his own meeting with Briggs.

She spent the morning watching movies with Steeljaw and Eject, answering so many questions she could barely follow the dialog. In the afternoon she went with Bee to visit Raf, who was calm and serious and almost happy about a group project he was doing at school.

“I like people,” he said. “I’ve skipped another grade, and I’m still the only one who can follow in math class, but this time the students have figured out I’m a resource rather than the reason the curve will break down. So.” He shrugged.

“It’s better when you’re older,” Kim said. “Human kids…can’t even name all their emotions, let alone use their words well enough to achieve their goals. And they all defend themselves all the time.”

“I _am_ a human kid,” he said. “I’d like to be a good human.”

She hugged him then. And realized what she’d done and froze. And then he hugged her back, hard.

It was almost normal. They were sitting on Bee’s hood, eating the last bites of the hotdogs Kim had picked up at Knock-out Burger. And it was almost like he was a normal tween, with usual problems. It was almost like they weren’t at war, and Jasper wouldn’t be bombed to glass if the Decepticons ever found them.

Beneath them, Bee warbled. “He says you’re worrying wrong,” Raf said.

“Oh. I’m worrying wrong.” Kim laughed. She had so much practice, you’d think she’d be great at it.

“Your field’s all chaotic. You won’t make it a _vorn_ like that.”

Kim sighed. “I won’t make it a vorn anyway.”

Raf patted her shoulder.

***

Kim spent almost a hour composing an email to the new linguist that night. It wasn’t so much that she was worried he’d be judging her communication—well, not _so_ much—but after so many months talking to ‘Bots and writing reports, she wasn’t all that comfortable talking to a strange human.

Especially after that weird senator Monday afternoon.

_Re: housekeeping_

_Chip, _

_Living on site is not part of the job requirements, but we’re currently renovating, and I’ve set aside a room for your use. You might decide to take an apartment in town, but long term predictions are difficult. Be prepared and all that. _

_The room is eighteen by twelve. It currently has no furniture, so it’ll need a bed, a desk, a dresser. Don’t forget a mattress. Maybe other items? Anyway, please send first and second choices for whatever you want; pick stuff that’s nice: the renovation budget is generous. With luck, we can have it here before you arrive. _

_Kim_

Was that all right? Too friendly? Too bossy? Was it too awkward to imply her renovation budget was enormous? That might come off as bragging. On the other hand, she didn’t want him to cheap out, thinking they were on a shoestring.

And Optimus had allocated funds that were more than triple Fixit’s estimates. He was exposing his sparklings to a human community, and money was no object.

And Chip didn’t know about the babies. Man, did linguists love babies. He’d be overnighting a lot, even if he didn’t live here, because _babies_. So.

Clean it up. Paint it. Pour a new floor because the 1960s tile was hideous.

***

She spent the most of the next day on the balcony, typing up reports. New NEST personnel from China and India would be arriving in a couple of weeks, and while they were all fluent in English Jazz had asked for some brief introductory fliers on ‘working with aliens’ that could be translated into their native languages. Also, Blaster had another long list of questions about mass media. And General Morshower wanted to know more about mech religion—

That was worrisome, but not impossible. Kim knew how to be general and boring about religion. She could tell the truth and have it sound mundane and not-terrifying. It wasn’t even a lie to call Unicron a demon or monster rather than a god: the Autobots didn’t like the term ‘god.’

***

Optimus was in root at the edge of the mesa, shifting gently as he scanned towards Jasper. There was more…movement than usual. Possibly deliberate, she decided, coming to a stop a few yards from his feet.

He was also spotlessly clean and gleaming--enough that he might have fiddled with his paint nanites a bit. He turned, leaned down fluidly—definitely making the point that he was no longer huddled in alt with no power to spare—and said, “Evening.”

“Definitely evening,” Kim agreed. “It’s almost sunset.” She took a deep breath. “How are you feeling?”

“Much better, thank you. My primary power output is stable. My cognitive processors are operating within specifications.”

“I’m glad.”

“Thank you for your help.”

Kim ruthlessly quelled the urge to wave it off. “You’re welcome,” she said instead.

“This conversation.” He paused. “Would you prefer to be on the rock? Or in my cab? I wasn’t sure which to offer….”

_This conversation._ Well, damn. “I’d prefer to see your face, I think.” An absurd prejudice on Kim’s part: almost all of his body language and facial expression was part of the communications packet. 

“I am not quite sure…It concerns me that you might not feel able to speak freely, if I place you in a position you cannot exit independently.”

Kim frowned. “Like—if I say something that pisses you off, you’ll storm off and leave me up there?” Kim laughed. “No. You would never do it. You wouldn’t even think of it. _I_ didn’t think of it.”

He scooped her up with both servos, lifting her gently to a comfortably wide shelf where they were at eye level. Kim wondered if she should ask for her folding chair, decided it was better to stand. “This doesn’t have to be a hard conversation,” she said. “As you pointed out, how I feel doesn’t matter for my work. It is sex that compromises professional relationships—And those biological mechanisms really mess up our thinking. But that can’t be an issue here. My work isn’t suffering because of my feelings. And it won’t. Actually, utterly humiliating stories of researcher mistakes are what make ethnographies fun to read. There…isn’t a problem to solve here. We don’t have to talk about this.” That last was more wishful thinking than truth. She would give him an out, though, if he wanted one. “I could ask how your meeting with Briggs went.”

He regarded her for several seconds. “I did not reference our work as separate from our relationship.” His fans ratcheted up for a moment before muting again. “It is a persistent puzzle. How do humans separate your work and purpose from your existence?”

Kim had been thinking about the differences in self-concept, and the change in topic was a relief. “My model of myself is a core, persistent personality that…it is just in categories sometimes. Statuses. And there are roles those statuses have to perform. But I believe there is a true ‘me’ underneath all the labels and responsibilities I have. For you…your existence _includes_ change: different physical forms and changing responsibilities. I can sort of imagine how it looks to you. Sometimes.”

“I accept that our identities do differ. Generally. But part of your mandate was to explore how members of our respective species relate to one another. How could you do that while separating your soul from your assignment?”

This was getting awkwardly, painfully personal. Kim managed a tight laugh “Assuming humans have souls--” she began.

“I perceive evidence of your soul, although I realize you do not.” And then he shed the nonverbal package and went completely still for several seconds. When he moved again, the shifts were muted, softer. “But that _is_ the topic of this discussion. Even when we are overlapping, you can barely perceive the existence of my soul. Anything I could say, everything I have said is…incomplete communication. It was unfair that you were left to feel your declaration was…unwelcome. Perhaps you are still unsure if your affection is an insult.” 

_Les Majesty_. Right. Shit. He never forgot anything. Kim rested her hand on the reddish rock rising beside her. It was solid and gritty under her fingers. “N-no. I…think I get it now. I was trying not to think about it before, but…. I do understand that everyone you love—everyone _else_ you love—you’re responsible for them in a way you’ll never be responsible for me. Your NEST colleagues—you’re very close to some of them, but they’re in a military chain of command, so they aren’t really free. And then there’s me. And you made sure I am answerable to the truth, not to you personally.”

“I treasure your independence,” he agreed carefully.

“And you’re very lonely. It isn’t just that you’re all that is left of the government and responsible for the military and sort of a parent to about a third of them—the whole reproduction of your species is pretty much down to you now. I’m not sure it was even easier when Sentinel Prime was alive—”

He shifted slightly backwards. It was one of the few involuntary micro expressions mecha had. “We have not discussed Sentinel Prime.”

Kim sighed. “Windblade did a little. Heh. I think she must have hated him a lot. I kinda suspect one of the reasons for hiding the Allspark off-planet was that he would go with it.”

“I…trusted him initially. Followed his lead for too long. He presented himself as a mentor to me…” He stopped, reset his vocalizer. “I made many mistakes.”

“But I’m from a species with decentralized reproduction. Collectively, we decide when and how… I could do it myself, if I wanted to. So I’m really safe, that way.”

“Are you suggesting it is only safety I feel in your company, not affection?”

“No,” she said gently. “Of course not. I… am a very brave protein bubble. And my mirror neurons fire for you.” Kim’s own voice had gone soft. There was a limit to her conscious control over her nonverbals. “I give your people the same research protections I give my people--because they are _people_. And that is inconvenient but...precious to you.” It felt strange to say what she thought he was thinking. You never, ever, knew what someone else was thinking, Kim lived by that. But, oh, she knew this. It was terrible and hard, but true. He had picked her out. She was what he had _wanted_….

_Oh, god. _

“Yes. That,” he said. “I set the terms of our interactions. You depend on me to be careful--a single mistake of mine could damage you fatally. And still, you scrupulously protect me. And this protection, it isn’t dependent on love. You will protect mecha you dislike, mecha you have barely met—and you will do it because it is ethical….”

Right. Yes. The motive would matter to him. _Oh, god. _

Kim shut her eyes hard. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I haven’t protected you from me.”

He leaned slightly closer. Kim didn’t look, but she could hear the soft breath of helm vents, feel a slight heat radiating from sun warmed metal. “Your affection does not harm me.” he said gently. “I confess I am uncomfortably uncertain about how to proceed. We cannot file share. We cannot establish joint residence. I cannot ‘date’ you.” His voice staticked slightly. “You are crying, and I do not know how to comfort you.”

She was crying. Kim rubbed at her eyes, gave up, bent to retrieve the tissues from her bag.

It took a moment. She wiped up the damp, human byproducts of grief. She gulped some water. She breathed in and out.

Finally, she couldn’t put it off anymore. “Okay, here’s the thing.” Her voice didn’t shake at all. She was surprised. “I love you. I will love you my whole life. All I want is to be here, with you. And that is what I would want even if I weren’t doing some of the most important work humans have ever done. But that--that isn’t the problem. The problem is I did let you get...so attached to _me_. I’m so ...sorry.”

“Why do you define this as a problem? There is considerable overlap in our societies’ categories of friendship. My feelings are returned. Our working relationship is strengthened by mutual trust. I find our situation completely acceptable.”

“You’ve been at war for a very, very long time,” she explained gently. “You’re grieving…for so much. I don’t think it’s…kind, letting you get so attached to me.”

His optics darkened as the tiny lenses narrowed their focus on her. “I find your company comforting.”

Was he being deliberately obtuse? “I’m human. I won’t even make it a vorn.”

The pause was tiny. When he spoke, his voice was uninflected. “Who has told you that your lifespan makes your friendship unworthy?”

Kim straightened her back and braced both hands firmly on the rock. “I won’t answer that question. And nobody lately, anyway. And it doesn’t matter. You’re going to spend so much more time grieving me than knowing me. How can I know that going in and let you—? How can I?” Her eyes overflowed again.

“My feelings are not yours to direct.”

Kim cleared her throat. “It isn’t kind of me to participate in this. I don’t…I don’t want you hurt. You’re isolated and lonely and I—I’m not a good idea. Long term, I’m a _problem_, not a solution for you.”

He turned his face away, looking out toward Jasper. “I see.”

“I don’t know what to do about this. I can’t stop working with you. But this is so unfair to you.…”

“This is not the conversation I was expecting. I….Let me ask this,” he paused, and then began again, more slowly. “If our positions were reversed, if you knew with great certainty that you would outlive me, that you would, most likely, mourn me for much longer than you knew me, would you withdraw your emotional attachment?”

Oh, god. Of course he wasn’t going to be reasonable about this. “It’s not the same thing.” Kim took a shaky breath and tried to ready herself for whatever brilliant argument was going to take apart her logic.

But she was right. She knew she was right.

“In what way is it not the same thing? Are you not also invested?”

“It’s not the same thing because _I’m_ the human. Outliving you is hypothetical for me. Or at least a huge longshot. The reality is…the reality for you.”

“You are in error.”

A wave of horror crashed over her. For a moment Kim couldn’t breathe “I’m. I’m in error?” He didn’t answer. Her heart sank. “Optimus, are you—is there something you haven’t told me about the problem in your power system?”

“I have not concealed information from you about my health. My performance is within normal tolerances.”

“So.” Kim swallowed. “What are you talking about?”

“There are certain statistical likelihoods regarding the war you have not considered.” 

“Right. Yeah. We all might be dead in less than five years. This whole conversation is pointless. I have considered that.” She tried to laugh.

“On the contrary. While it is possible we will lose the war…there are strategic paths that have a high probability of success.”

He was looking at her now, and Kim couldn’t quite bear it. She closed her eyes. “Yes. You’ve said you’re hopeful.”

“Our situation will be substantially improved if Megatron can be removed from the equation. As a leader he is an excellent strategist and commands great loyalty. However, that loyalty is personal. Without him personally in command, the Decepticons are much less effective. He micromanages. He does not trust his generals or strategists. He systemically humiliates subordinates. He tolerates pettiness. He encourages jealousy and competition rather than cooperation.”

“That’s…awful,” Kim said, trying to be patient. This analysis of the enemy leadership probably wasn’t a digression, but the tie back to the topic—and the aching heartbreak that was churning her stomach—might be long and convoluted. She rubbed her hands across her eyes.

“It gives us an opportunity. His two primary deputies are here on Earth. Neither has his complete trust or has been groomed into a natural successor. And they will not cooperate with one another. In Megatron’s absence, there is a thirty percent chance that their conflict will lead to the death of one or both of them in the first orn.”

Kim looked up. “What, seriously?”

“Indeed. If both survive, there is a sixty percent chance the Decepticon forces will divide. They would lose their advantage in numbers. Should Starscream emerge the sole leader, there is a greater than fifty-percent chance he will flee the planet. Soundwave, if in command, will almost certainly negotiate for surrender. Decepticon surrender. He continues to fight only out of loyalty to Megatron. The calculations of survival—in the absence of both Vector Sigma and the Allspark—require an end to conflict. But even if they continue to fight, they will be too disorganized to defeat us.”

“Just like that? It can’t be that easy.”

“It may not be easy. And there are other variables. We are uncertain about the whereabouts of Shockwave. If he were to arrive on Earth before the conflict ended, he might be a unifying force. However, he is a pragmatist. He might also be willing to negotiate an end to the war.”

“Great. So we just have to find the Nemesis and assassinate Megatron.” But they had no technology that could penetrate the cloak around the Nemesis. It could be anywhere on the planet, at any altitude, including hiding behind the moon or under cover in the ocean.

“Over the last few hundred years, Megatron has grown…impatient. He is angry and frustrated, now, in addition to being arrogant and single-minded. I calculate an eighty-three percent chance that, given the right circumstances, I can goad him into confronting me directly.”

“You mean, fighting you…himself.”

“Yes. That is what I mean.”

“Can—can you beat him?”

“Almost certainly. The Matrix grants me particular…advantages. My power systems are more efficient than his. I have learned a great deal since the last time we fought individually. I will succeed.”

A little dizzy, Kim closed her eyes. “Oh my god. And then…. The war.”

“Yes, Kim. An end to the war. My people and yours, safe. The myriad life on this planet safe. Your work will be very important, then. I do not expect we can keep the presence of mecha a secret if the situation escalates to open conflict. A great deal will depend on you.”

“Me.” It took two tries to get the word out, and her voice broke on it.

“Yes, Kim. I’m sorry. This strategy has a high probability of success, but I am unlikely to survive.”

Kim was trying to retreat, pressing back against the rocks. “How—how bad is the math?”

“Seven percent,” he said softly.

“Seven percent chance you will survive.”

“Yes. So, you see, the near certainty is that you will—that you will have me in your life for only a tiny fraction of it and—and that you will be left to grieve.”

“You can’t. They need you. The Matrix—”

“The Matrix will continue, as it always has.”

“If the Decepticons will fall apart without a leader—”

“I have not systematically dismantled the confidence and collaboration of my command staff. Jazz, Ironhide, and Springer are well positioned to lead the Autobots in my absence.”

“No,” she gasped.

“This is not only the path with the best potential for success. It is the only path where Earth is likely to survive intact. I have left my own planet a ruin. I will not allow life on this planet to be destroyed as well.”

_Seven percent. _

Dimly, Kim was aware that tears were disgustingly salty and even a little hazardous. Her hands were sweaty, though, and that was salt, too. That was as bad. She was supposed to stay calm in the field. She was supposed to pay attention to the feelings of informants. She was supposed to—

_Seven percent. _

He was supposed to outlive her. For generations.

The hand pressed over her mouth couldn’t keep the sob from escaping.

“Kim,” he said softly. “Now that you have a more complete estimate of the risks…if the grief to come is too much to bear, I will understand if you wish to withdraw from our emotional intimacy.”

“Stop,” she choked. “No. I’m not. I won’t abandon you now!”

“You sought to protect me—”

“Shut up. I was wrong.” She wiped her eyes on her sleeve and tried to take a deep breath. “Shut up. Don’t you dare—” She dug in her bag for a handful of tissues, wiped her eyes again, blew her nose. “I’m sorry. Forgive me. I won’t—I won’t be so stupid again. I’m s-sorry.”

He spread a broad hand before her. Shaking, Kim sank onto it and allowed herself to be lifted. He held her for a long moment, close, the carrying position, so that her electromagnetic presence overlapped his spark. “I am sorry, beloved friend,” he whispered.

“I can’t stop you. I can’t—I can’t tell you not to. How can I let you do this?” For a moment she couldn’t breathe with the horror of it. _Seven percent._

“I must fight him. It is the best choice.”

No. Oh. This was so wrong. She shoved the wet tissue into her pocket and wiped her eyes on her arm. This was—wrong. “It’s not fair.”

“Fair is a conceit of sentience.”

Kim sighed miserably, her temple resting against the pseudo-glass of his windshield plating. “I’m so sorry.”

“I also. I understand your wish to save me from the pain of grief. Selfishly…I wish to navigate this with you. While we can.”

Kim nodded. It was a long time before she trusted herself to speak. And that was wrong. It was bad enough for him without a useless human slumped against his armor, falling apart. She asked, “The others—who knows?”

“Jazz has confirmed my calculations. I think Ironhide suspects my intention. Of the others, Lennox and the General know that provoking Megatron personally is a strategy I intend to pursue. But I have not discussed the expected outcome.”

“Yeah, they’d freak.” She cleared her throat. “Keller and Mearing?”

“They are not involved in the details of combat strategy.”

“Right.” Kim was clutching at his armor. She had always been careful to touch him carefully, respectfully. Now she was clinging. She was clinging and leaking salt water. “I’m so sorry.” She shouldn’t be falling apart like this. Kim wasn’t the one with the problem. He intended to kill someone he used to respect, and he expected to die doing it. Kim snuffled and pressed her palm against a hard armor seam, trying to ground herself, get some control. “Can I help?”

“You will help. You will protect our people from each other. Whatever happens, your work must continue. Later. Just now.…For now, let’s be here quietly together.”

Kim nodded. A tear slipped free, splashed down on the sleek red panel. She wiped it away.

“Grief is difficult. So is fear. Forgive me, but your culture is not particularly good with either.”

Kim laughed roughly. “Yeah.” She took a deep breath. “Are you afraid?”

“I am afraid of failing. I am not afraid of dying. I am sad. I…would very much like more time with Earth’s trees, its elephants, its cities. But more than that, I want them to exist.”

“I guess that’s good. Um. I know you feel guilty about sending the Cube here. I’m worried that this is—you aren’t—”

“This strategy is not a form of penance. It is the most likely to succeed. It minimizes collateral losses for both sides. I….”

“Yeah,” Kim whispered. “I get it. It has to,” she swallowed. “It has to be this way. But you aren’t…gone yet. You’re here with me.”

“I am.” The sound was quiet and deep and made Kim’s teeth itch. It wasn’t a noise in the air, but seemed to be transmitted through the armor.

_Shh. Please don’t cry. It’s all right._

It wasn’t.

Kim wiped her eyes on her shoulder and reached her arms as widely as she could. Hugging was as much a failure as it always was—too broad, too hard, too edgy, too few tactile receptors—but she did it anyway. He deserved to be comforted, encouraged, soothed. Kim had nothing. Hopeless and empty—how could she have anything to offer in the face of this—she held on until the soft keening died away.

When she looked up it had gotten dark. “Damn,” she whispered. “You had a conference call, after us.”

“I found a pretext to cancel it.”

She nodded. “I’m…sorry it got…messy. You don’t have time to be fussing over me.”

He paused. “I was not--It is the other way. But you don’t perceive my spark, or even how your own field….ah. We shall say that the fussing was mutual.”

She took a couple of deep breaths, turned so her back was resting against his thorax, rubbed a hand across her eyes. Her head hurt. “I have to pretend everything’s fine.”

“You do not. Everything is not fine. Your planet is occupied by an enemy who believes your species has no value. Your friends are endangered. The future is uncertain.”

“Yeah. Right.” There was enough to be sad about.

“Perhaps I can bring an end to all that. Perhaps I can give you peace.”

Kim stiffened. “Don’t start. Don’t do that. Don’t say this is for me. Right now—I know it’s wrong, but I’d rather have _you_. And talking about that won’t help you. So. Let’s not go there.”

“As you say.”

“No notes on this. Obviously.”

“No record of any kind.”

“And…I’m not going to talk about this. Well. I’m going to try not to talk about this. To you. It isn’t fair. You have enough….” Kim shook her head.

“And if I wish to speak of it?”

“A-anything. Whenever you want.” She could do that much.

She curled up tight against him and tried not to cry. He closed his servo in a little more closely. They stayed that way until Orion rose in the east. The air was cold by then, but his armor was warm.

End. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I didn't answer any comments on 4 and even not some on 3. 
> 
> I owe everybody an appology for this. It's just, given what was coming in part five, there were just a lot of things I couldn't say. Or would have been obnoxious to say. To many of the best comments, saying ANYTHING would have been unkind. Given what was coming. So I didn't. 
> 
> I did--very much--appreciate the excitement and engagement. 
> 
> In other news, I assume there will be at least 2 more stories. I have already started the next. It's kidfic. Wow. I never expected to be writinig that. 
> 
> Thank you again, everybody, for taking this crazy trip with me.


End file.
